Captivation
by katydidit
Summary: What if you, the reader, were summoned to a grand ball at the palace, and then chosen as the prince's consort? AU. Second Person/Reader POV. Some violence and dubcon so be aware, but it does go beyond that.
1. Chapter 1

AN: Hello! This has been sitting on my hard drive for ages now, and I'm still not sure if I really want to share it, but as I have several chapters written already, I decided to give it a shot. Be warned that there is some occasional violence depicted against the reader-slash-main-character, so if that's something that might trigger you or offend you, this might be one to give a miss. Sorry. (I'm not sure whether it qualifies as truly "graphic" as per the archive warning system, but I figure it's better to be safe than put an innocent reader in a bad mental place.) I've done my best to keep things fairly accurate to the film, but in the case of any noticeable errors, please note that I originally intended this as an alternate universe. Please let me know if anything is distractingly out of place, however: I am more than willing to fix things as necessary!

In hindsight, you should have known that something was wrong when your father presented you with the gown. It was a beautiful silken thing, a rich emerald color that didn't match your eyes, exactly, but did make them stand out among the scattering of freckles on your cheeks. There were intricate designs embroidered in gold thread along the bodice, and they caught the light with each tiny movement. It was soft and beautiful, and unlike anything else you'd ever worn, and that should have been a clue. Your clothes were cheap and perfunctory, at this point more patch than original fabric, and there was a reason for that. Your father was cheap and he only spent what he absolutely had to—and certainly never on anyone but himself. You should have run while you had the chance, before the carriages showed up at your door.

Three men and a woman stood outside, their clothes bearing the crest of the royal family. At first you thought they had come for your brother. He was an idiot, and really not suited for much work in the military beyond the front line, but he was solidly build and could probably take a dozen bullets before falling. But then the woman caught your eyes almost pityingly.

"Are you ready, my lady?" she asked. Upon your bewildered expression, she elaborated. "The ball. Are you ready? We are here to escort you."

The pleading look you sent your father did nothing, as he refused to look at you. He handed the box containing that cursed gown to the lady, and two of the men came to grip your arms firmly. They led you to the carriage outside without a word.

In the past, "going to the ball" was the polite euphemism that families used when their daughters were kidnapped and forced into harems at the palace. These girls would never return to their families: they would serve as whores for the king or the prince, or even any visitors to whom the royals granted permission. When they grew too old, or fell pregnant, they were either turned into palace servants or simply killed to prevent a bastard from interfering with a rightful heir.

Today, the balls were supposedly more civilized. The outcome was the same, of course, but now many girls were invited to the palace for dinner and dancing before the king or the prince selected his favorites. It was touted as an honor now, and many girls grew up believing that it was. You knew several girls who had been dreaming about this day since the first time they heard the stories. You had been dreading it. You told yourself that you were too poor, too plain, too stupid to ever be summoned, let alone chosen, but now your last hope was that you would not attract too much attention from His Majesty's eyes. Your family would, of course, be handsomely rewarded if your company were...desired, which would explain the gamble that your father had taken on that dress. You settled back against the plush cushions of the carriage and tried to ignore both the weight of the box in your lap and the churning in your stomach. It would be mortifying to vomit all over the inside of a royal carriage—though you could not deny the small trace of glee that your small protest would bring you.

"You were not told." The woman sounded sympathetic. As though she had any idea what this was like. The temptation to cross your arms and simply ignore her was great, but it was childish and could easily get you into deep trouble with the king. So you shook your head and swallowed hard.

"No, m'lady. But I...accept my summons gratefully." The words tasted sour, like bile, and you had to swallow again. "May I ask who has invited me?" You could only hope that it would be the firstborn, Prince Thor. He was known to be just and honorable. He would not take someone unwilling, not with a room full of girls begging to be chosen. There was nothing preventing the King from building another harem—unless you counted his wife, of course. Queen Frigga was unlikely to allow such a thing. The woman glanced at the box in your lap and smiled grimly at you.

"My lady, does the green and gold of your dress not tell you?"

Loki. The younger brother of Thor. He had always struck you as the worst kind of royal (not that you personally knew of many): bitter about his place in his family and drunk on what little power he did have. He did not make many appearances with the rest of his family, but when he did, the differences between his brother and him was always jarring. He was, without a doubt, the kind of man who might create a harem made up entirely out of unwilling women for the simple pleasure of breaking them, exerting control over them. Suddenly, you felt even sicker, and it didn't help that the carriage jolted to a halt outside another house.

Soon, there were half a dozen other girls in your carriage, all giggling and jabbering excitedly about the ball and their chances of being selected. It was easy to fade into the background of such a din, but it was impossible to forget where you were going.

By the time you arrived at the palace, the small room the guards herded you into to change was already filled with girls and their things. Thankfully, you managed to find a corner to change in. After struggling with the zipper on your dress, you turned around and noticed that more than a few pairs of eyes were looking at you. Appraising you. Some apparently decided that you were no threat, while others grew even colder.

"Looks like someone's got a thing for Prince Loki," someone muttered, and several girls tittered. Now that you looked around the room, it became even clearer who most of the girls were hoping to impress. Your dress was a tiny green island amongst a sea of red and gold. There were girls applying crimson powder to their eyelids and girls tying golden ribbons into their hair. There were even a few girls wearing the darker hue commonly associated with the king's cloak. It was horrifying. You looked down at your dress. There were girls dressed in green, of course—there would always be girls interested in that kind of man—but your dress stood out. It was shimmering and glowing in the light, and that was no good at all. Even worse, it was sure to attract the wrong kind of attention from the wrong prince.

You were just beginning to panic again when a small girl in a forest-green dress that seemed like it should have belonged to someone taller—an older sister, perhaps?—came over to you and smiled almost shyly. It was hard for you to believe that she could possibly be of age, but that was none of your business. "Would you like me to brush your hair, m'lady?" she asked. You shook your head—you had carefully worked the tangles out of your hair with your fingers, and it now fell in waves around your shoulders, but that was all the effort that you desired to put into it. Nothing elaborate, nothing fancy, nothing that would draw attention to you. "No, thank you. I'd prefer to let it be." The girl nodded again and took in your appearance. Her eyes traveled along the designs in your bodice, down to the skirts that flared out just slightly around your hips, and you recognized that small flash of jealousy. You knew that feeling well. Something twisted inside you. You'd always longed for a sister, and now you wanted to hide this girl, protect her from the night's dangers. "I could do your hair, if you'd like."

The girl accepted with an excited nod, and you set about working her long hair into a simple braid. It was elegant (or as elegant as fingers like yours could manage) without being too showy, and the mindless activity allowed the fear to drain from your body. The two of you began talking, and before you knew it, another woman was poking her head in to tell you all to line up for the entrance.

In a different situation, the ballroom might have taken your breath away, but as things were, you would barely remember it. The royal family sat at the front of the room, and as each girl passed them, she fell into a deep curtsy. The king and queen watched benignly, royal smiles fixed firmly on their faces as each girl passed them. Thor was smiling kindly and nodding reassuringly to the girls, though he showed no interest in the gowns of blood and gold. Loki seemed least interested of all. When a girl not swathed in his brother's colors crossed in front of him, he seemed to prick up a bit, but it was always short-lived, because even they were always staring, moon-faced, at his brother. You felt a stab of pity for the prince, but it quickly disappeared, overtaken by nausea. It wasn't as though he hadn't had a choice in this. The girl—Sigg was her name—nudged you excitedly from her place in front of you.

"He's looking at us!" She whispered, and stood up straighter to try to look older. You put your hands on her bare shoulders and squeezed gently.

"No, he's looking at you. Your hair must be even more beautiful than I thought."

She giggled and took her turn in front of the royals, which left you with the uncomfortable realization that Prince Loki was, in fact, looking right at you. You took your turn and tried not to look at anyone—not Loki, not Thor, not Sigg, not anyone. It was all you could do to keep from freezing on the spot. Finally, you were able to join the rest of the girls at the side of the room before the ball was announced officially open. Sigg giggled about the way Loki had been unable to tear his eyes away from you, but you did your best to steer her away from the topic each time.

Avoiding the prince was easy, for the most part. There would be a sudden flurry of activity nearby, which gave you plenty of time to melt away in the opposite direction. Many times you thought you could feel a cold stare on the back of your neck, but when you searched the crowd, you saw only your fellow guests. When you had to duck into the washroom, you managed to sink into a group of red dresses, and you were careful to avoid the tables set out with offerings of food and drink. As long as you stayed in the middle of the dance floor, with plenty of room on each side of you, and away from corners, you would be just fine.

The night was beginning to come to a close and you hadn't seen either of the princes for the better part of an hour when you ducked out onto the balcony. There were fewer girls out here, and the night air felt cool and refreshing on your skin. This running was exhausting, but, below, you could see the carriages lining up to take you home. You let a sigh pass your lips. Relief. Your father would be livid that his money had been wasted, and surely you would be made to bear the brunt of that anger, but it was still safer than being here.

"Enjoying the night, my lady?" The voice was low in your ear and ever so slightly raspy. You had not heard it very frequently, but you recognized it immediately and your heart sank. The prince. Loki.

You spun around, and were taken aback by how close he was standing to you. Either one of you would only have to lift an arm a few inches and you would be touching. You could swear that you could feel the heat of his body seeping through your dress, though of course that was ridiculous, especially with the breeze that blew through you. His eyes were glowing with light reflected from the ballroom and the night sky, and they were trained, unblinking and with far too much interest, on you. It was hard to breathe. You lowered your eyes and sank into a curtsy, despite the lack of space between you.

"Forgive me, my lord prince, but I am no lady. I am merely a girl from the village." If he knew how lowly you were, perhaps he would be less likely to bother with you. Your dress, however, would make a hard case for your family's poverty. He smiled a bit and lifted your hand to his lips, never tearing his eyes away from yours.

"You are breathtaking in my colors, my lady." It was his only reply, but it said enough. Something made you want to tell him that it was a coincidence, that you actually wanted nothing more out of life than to be one of Prince Thor's sluts, but the words would not come. You were too proud, perhaps, or too honest.

"Thank you, sir." It was a poor substitute for the desperate appeal you longed to make. Please do not choose me. Please let me go home. Please. You could not look at him, but he tugged lightly on your arm.

"Dance with me."

It was not a request, and, even if it had been, refusing it would not have been an option. So you let him lead you back into the ballroom, let him put his hands on your hips and pull you close. Too close. He was a strong leader, though, and so light on his feet that he seemed to be floating. By comparison, you felt more like some kind of well-trained beast. You could follow along, and you picked up on the steps easily, but it was not nearly so magical. Instead of frustration at your gracelessness, he seemed to hold only amusement. A hint of a smile hovered near his lips, but it did not seem overtly mocking. In any case, you were attracting attention: jealous stares even from the girls in scarlet. After all, you had the undivided attention of a prince.

You would gladly have given it to any other girl in the room.

A second song drew to a close, and then a third and the prince continued to pull you closer. Occasionally he lowered his head to allow his lips to graze the skin of your neck, and then your cheeks. When he finally moved in to kiss you, your spine stiffened and you would have pulled away if his arms had not been locking you in place against his body. There was a moment of stunned silence as he processed what had just happened, and then his face hardened with irritation.

"I am your prince," he hissed. People around you were staring for entirely different reasons now: jealousy had turned into shock, and maybe a bit of fear. You held your back straight and ignored the smirks that a few of the girls were sending your way.

"I am sorry, my lord, please, forgive me. It was...reflex. Instinct, sire." This was bad. This was very, exceedingly, dangerously bad. Anger was flaring in the prince's eyes, and it was a well-documented fact that when royalty got this angry, other people got hurt. Suddenly the threat was not just against you and your modesty, but against your entire family as well. Your apologies did nothing.

"Any other woman in this room would be glad to suffer my kiss, and you, who come here wearing my colors, spend your night running from me at every opportunity and recoil from me as though I had venom in my fangs." He gestured to someone in the crowd, and for the second time that day, you found yourself flanked by silent guards. "Take her," he spat. "I have made my decisions. The night is over."

The guards led you from the room, and you concentrated on turning your heart to stone. Begging would not work, and you would not give him the satisfaction of your tears. It was best, for now, to accept your fate silently and without a struggle. They took you to a large room full of dark furniture, with a fireplace burning brightly and a window seat cut into the stone walls, but not much else. This was not a prison cell, but neither was it how you would have expected a palace whore to live. At the very least, you'd expected that there would be more than one bed. The guards left and the heavy door locked behind them. You were trapped.


	2. Chapter 2

No one else joined you that night, and eventually you allowed yourself to pull back the heavy furs on the bed and fall asleep. You slept lightly in such an unfamiliar place. Every sound roused you, and you laid there staring with wide eyes into the darkness. Twice you dreamed that the prince was there, once creeping under the covers and once merely stroking your face, but each time you ripped yourself from your sleep with a sob and the dream disappeared.

In the morning, a small servant woke you up by opening the curtains. The light of the morning flooded the room. She smiled when you sat up. "My lady, your breakfast is on the tray by your bed, and someone will be in shortly with some clothing for you." Another shy smile. "Everybody is talking about last night."

Not good. You cringed, and swung your feet over the edge of the bed. Breakfast was certain to be horrifying—cold porridge, probably, or stale bread. What more would a wretch like you deserve from the royal family? Because it was true that you sincerely did not wish to be at the ball last night, but there were also measures that you could ostensibly have taken. Appeals were sometimes granted. You could have taken a vow of chastity and been excused from the whole debacle—if only you had had enough forewarning. To an outsider, you were a monster and deserved whatever you got.

The sight that greeted you instead shocked you: fried meats, eggs, a variety of sliced fruits, and a large mug of tea steaming merrily all filled the air with a delicious smell. After working so hard to avoid the food at the ball last night, you were starving, but you touched nothing. You couldn't trust it. Something was guaranteed to be drugged, or even poisoned. It was absolutely one of Loki's tricks, a punishment. You turned from the tray, to face the servant.

"Am I in quite a lot of trouble, do you think?" Really, though, the amount of trouble was irrelevant: it was the consequences that you would need to worry about. "What will happen to my family?"

An apologetic shrug. "I don't know, m'lady. I am but a kitchen girl. I expect they'll be paid, like all of the other families have been. I should go. Someone will come to collect your tray later." And with that, she disappeared back through the door. She was careful to lock it behind her, but even if you were to try to follow her out into the corridors, you didn't know your way around the palace. You would be caught almost immediately, and the punishment would become even more severe. You sank back onto the bed and fought the tears.

As promised, a woman came through the door later. Her face was age-worn but still bright, and her arms were full of dresses. She regarded the heaping tray with a disapproving look and a tut-tut of her tongue.

"You'll need to eat, my lady. We can't let you starve."

"I ate too much at the ball last night. I'm not hungry." The lie would not have convinced even your brother, but there it was anyway. The woman shook her head and spread the dresses out on the bed. She eyed you thoughtfully before choosing one from the pile and holding it out in front of you. It was silk, like your gown from the night before, but clearly of a much finer quality. There were tiny gems sewn into the neckline and trails of them flowed down into the full skirts. It was, of course, a rich green.

"He'll love you in this."

"That's hardly my main concern." You sounded for all the world like a sulky child.

"Well, it should be. Do you have any idea what an honor this is? All the girls in attendance last night and he picks this one." She dragged you to your feet and led you to a door you had yet to notice. "We can't make you eat, but we can make you wash up. Into the tub. You're not coming out of there until all that town dirt is gone. And you only get so much hot water, so don't sit there pouting. Get to it." She pushed you into the washroom and closed the door behind you. You knew that it was probably just for your privacy, but still you listened for the click of a lock.

When, as the woman said, all of the town dirt had been washed away, you dried and dressed, and stepped back into your empty room. The breakfast tray had been taken away, and another left in its place. There was a tureen of some kind of rich soup and several large chunks of bread, as well as another mug of tea. Once again, you touched none of it, though by now the smell was beginning to make you change your mind. Think of the poison, you told your stomach. Think of the drug, or the potion. It was dangerous, more dangerous than starving to death. At least that way, you'd be spared the shame that was to come. You gave the tray one last longing look and then went to sit in the window. Your room looked out onto the front of the grounds, and the window might have been large enough to attempt an escape, if you weren't high in the clouds. Still, it offered a kind of escape, if you got desperate enough. Peering at the ground made you feel sick, though. You'd have to be very desperate.

The same woman with the dresses came to collect your tray again, and, rolling her eyes and muttering something about stubborn beasts in lady's clothing, dropped another tray on the table. "There's people in this very palace who haven't seen food like this in a long time, my lady, and who would love even a scrap of it."

"Take it, then. I'm not going to eat anything he sends me. I want to go home." Even sulkier child. It was a great way to be taken seriously. The woman scoffed and shook her head.

"You're not going anywhere, girl. The prince has made his decision, and you're going to have to learn to live with it."

Her words were met with a stony silence, and she took her leave, muttering all the while. You didn't even bother to look at the new tray. Your will was stronger than your achingly empty stomach. You went to sleep early that night, earlier even than when you were a child, and you dreamt of him. He stood at the foot of your bed, drinking from a chalice and regarding you thoughtfully. You dreamed that you woke up once and met his eyes, and the dream flickered twice but held. After a moment of silence, you pulled the furs up over your head and went back to sleep.

The second day went much like the first one had, and you found yourself falling into a silent routine with the woman who brought you your trays. By lunch she had stopped trying to make you eat, which was fortunate since your resolve was growing as weak as your body. It wasn't as thought you were doing any hard labor, but the lack of any nutrition whatsoever was giving you dizzy spells. Still, you resisted. You had withstood winter days without food many times before, when the preserves in the cellar ran out and you had nothing to trade for anything else. Inevitably, the dizzy spells would grow more frequent, but the pangs in your belly would subside, and it would be all the easier to carry out this protest.

That night, as you sat in the window ignoring the tray going cold, another visitor burst through the door. Him. You jumped to your feet, but immediately found yourself grasping at the wall for support. The room was spinning.

"I can make you eat."

You said nothing, just raised your chin. There was not much else to say, after all, and anything that you did say would only get you deeper in trouble. He stalked closer, and you could see that his every muscle was tensed, that his fists were clenched at his sides. You wondered absently if the prince would beat his whores, but then decided that it no longer mattered to you. He was close, and you could feel his breath on your face. "I can tie you up and force it down your throat. I can have my men hold you down and watch."

"With all respect, my lord, that's what you are going to have to do." Your voice was laughably weak despite the vehemence in your soul, and your pulse throbbed erratically in your ears. He growled, and his hands shot out towards your face, as though he were planning on slapping you or maybe boxing your ears. At the last minute, though, he cupped your cheeks in his hands. His voice was tight, barely controlled.

"I am trying very hard to keep my temper, and if you have ever heard anything about me at all, you will know how rarely I do such things." It was true. You raised your eyes to meet his. "Think about this logically, pet. What would happen if Prince Loki of Asgard allowed a guest in his palace to starve to death while even the lowest servants went to bed sated every night?"

"I am not a guest, Your Highness," you replied. "We both know that I am just a palace whore. I matter to no one."

There was a long stretch of silence, and then the prince seemed to explode with action. One set of long pale fingers closed themselves around your throat even as he backed you up against the wall. He watched without emotion as you clawed at his grip. Your hands were too weak and starved to do much good at all. "This is the second time you have tried to correct me," he hissed. "What makes you think you know better than your prince?" His fingers tightened, cutting off not just any reply that you may have dared to make, but also the rest of your airway. "If you want to be a whore, I would be more than happy to oblige."

The prince loosened his grip just as the edge of your vision were beginning to darken, but rather than leave you alone, he dragged you to the unmade bed and threw you down atop it. His hand moved from your neck to your wrists now, and you realized dimly that he could hold both of your wrists in one of his hands. He did so now, and allowed the other to creep under your skirts. You bucked against him, kicking to free yourself, but he never budged. When he spoke again, his voice burned low in his chest. "I could take you until you're bleeding and ruined. I could bite and bruise every last inch of your pathetic body, torture you and laugh when you scream for help that will not come. I could loan you out to my men and their friends and some stranger at some pub in a village somewhere and watch as they use you and beat you, and I could laugh all the while." His fingertips pressed against your knickers, but did not fight to slip inside. "Oh, I could make you a palace whore, my dear. Is that what you want from me?"

"No!" You gasped out the word before you could even think. Your face was wet with tears, burning with the shame and embarrassment that his fingers were inspiring in you. "Please. No." You felt faint, but would not allow yourself to pass into unconsciousness with this man in your room. His hand slipped out from under your skirts, coming now to caress your cheek.

"No, of course it's not." There was little anger left in his voice now, but that dangerous edge was still glaringly present. "Would you rather I had my way with you gently? I could bind and gag you and rip your purity from you carefully. You would be unable to fight back, so perhaps that would save whatever silly little shreds of pride you still think you have left. I would still be the monster your mummy told you to stay away from, so there would be no shame in secretly enjoying your downfall, would there? I would even be considerate. I would make sure you followed me off the edge of oblivion, make sure you thoroughly enjoyed yourself." His voice was as gentle as his hand and his breath was warm against your ear. You were sobbing, begging for him to get off of you and leave you alone, but still he didn't move.

"But I won't do that either, pet. Because you are going to come to me. You are going to tell me yes, and then you are going to give yourself to me, and then I am going to reward you accordingly. Oh, you may never grow to love me, but I can assure you that you will grow to love the things that I can do to you, and that will be quite enough. Now look at me." You had squeezed your eyes shut to try to block out this whole thing, but found yourself opening them immediately. "Ah. Such eyes." He leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead. "Go wash your face. Fix your hair. Make yourself presentable. I am going to have the kitchen bring us a warm meal, and we are going to eat it together so that my guest does not waste away before my eyes." With that, he released your arms and slid off of the bed. In all honesty, you were too exhausted to do anything but obey, so you went into the washroom and splashed cold water onto your face.


	3. Chapter 3

By the time you were finished composing yourself and stepped out into the bedchamber again, there was a new assortment of food waiting by the door. True to his word, the prince was there as well. He bowed slightly, and indicated that you were to sit across from him at the small table. Your fears of poison were beginning to fade somewhat, but you were still wary of the food. The prince picked up on your misgivings and took your hand as he sat.

"What can I do to make you more at ease here, my lady?" His voice held no trace of the monster from before, and you ventured a look at his face. He seemed earnest, though of course that was no guarantee of anything. He was a skilled liar.

"Eat from both plates." When voiced aloud, your suspicions sounded absolutely ridiculous, and your entire face burned with embarrassment. "So I know this is no trick, my lord prince."

"Very well." He seemed amused, but did as you asked without hesitation. Only then did you feel confident in taking one of the plates. "Do you fear poison? Or potion?"

It stood to reason that he would be able to see through you so completely. When you spoke, it was more to the food on your plate than to the prince in front of you. "Both, sire."

He laughed then, and it was not the cold and humorless sound that you had heard from him in the past, but something almost approaching warmth. "I've told you, you will say yes to me of your own free will. Killing you or giving you a potion will only interfere with that. Remember that."

You ate slowly, and without speaking. It seemed to suit your host just fine, as he made no further attempts at conversation. When you could eat no more, you sat back from the table and tried to fight the drowsiness that had come along with the rich food—and the first time in a long time that your hunger had been truly sated. You could not fall asleep with the prince in the room. It would be rude and it would be stupid, and you were simply not going to do it.

"Your cheeks are flushed a most becoming pink, my lady. It pleases me to see you in better health already." His voice was soft, non-threatening, and the strangeness of hearing it from Prince Loki, the monster who less than an hour ago threatened to brutally harm you made you look up in surprise. What were you expected to say to such a thing?

"I..." This was absurd. "Thank you, my Lord Prince. The food was wonderful, and I appreciate your presence."

"Liar." You jerked your head up as soon as you'd processed his word. At the very least, you told yourself, he did not sound angry or offended. Indeed, when you searched his face you could see that he was smirking at you. "You just blatantly lied to your prince. It doesn't take a fool to see that I make you uncomfortable. Tell me that you would like nothing more than for me to leave you in peace."

It was true. It would also be suicidal to admit it aloud. You forced yourself to meet his eyes, and saw that he was still smiling at you, with next to no anger in his eyes.

"Sir...you frighten me."

He accepted your admission with a slight incline of his head. "Naturally. But that will pass as you begin to realize that I mean you no harm." You wanted desperately to ask what he had meant by his rage earlier then, but held your tongue. Perhaps it was wiser simply to let the matter drop.

But he would not allow it.

"I have a short temper, it is true, and I know that I can be quite cruel, but I have no intentions of hurting you." He reached across the table to touch the back of your hand. Despite yourself, goosebumps erupted in the wake of his fingers, and you shivered. He did not miss it, of course, and his voice took on a darker quality. "You are mine now, and I do not break my things, or share them."

Strange, but you would have expected such a declaration to give you even more hopelessness, not a small rush of relief, but your body still relaxed ever so slightly, and you heard yourself laugh. Could it be possible that this bitter, mercurial man could treat you better than the oafs in your village? Anyway, it was true that most married women back home were treated as little more than property—they cared for their children and kept their homes well and submitted to their husbands' basest desires and that was the extent of their lives. It was not as though you had ever had any hope of escaping such a fate—why not appreciate the fact that you belonged to royalty and not some dirty hairy man old enough to be your father? You laughed again, though it was without humor this time.

"Why do you laugh? I want to learn your mind. Will you share it with me?" He was leaning forward on the table, and his eyes were bright with interest. You found yourself blushing again.

"It is not...really very funny, my lord prince. I was just telling myself that ending up here, serving you, is sure to be better than belonging to whatever wretched man my father eventually chose to give me to." A moment or two passed as you realized how that sounded, and you jerked your head up to meet the prince's gaze. "I am sorry, sire, I hope I have not offended you. I meant nothing by it."

He took your hand and pressed his lips against it. "I understand. I will forgive you if you tell me about your village. I leave the palace so rarely. What is your family like?"

This was a trick, or else a trap. You studied him for a few moments as you tried to ascertain his goal. What would a prince care about your village or your family? But the expression on his face did not waver as you hesitated, and finally you spoke. "I come from a rather long line of embarrassments, sire. My brother, my father, his father, his father before him... We are not known to be a very successful family." It stung your pride to be tied to your father's name, but there was no escaping it. "I tried to tell you at the ball, my lord, that there were many other ladies of higher status and who were thus much more worthy of your time, but I'm afraid my words...failed me. I hope that you were able to select at least a few others of better breeding."

A cloud crossed in front of his face, one you could not understand, but he did not release your hand. "Go on," he murmured against your skin, and you shivered despite yourself.

"My mother died when I was very small, in childbirth." Your voice caught in your throat as you remembered the morning your father told you that not only would you have no little sister to play with, but your mother had been taken from you as well. You had not thought about them in years, let alone teared up over them, but maybe it was the homesickness that gripped you now. "So I cared for my father and brother until just a few nights ago, when you brought me here."

"And has that been your whole life, then?" He asked. His voice sounded strange. Clearly he was beginning to realize what a mistake he had made in choosing you. You were nothing but a clump of dirt from the village wrapped in a beautiful gown, and he had been fooled. All you could do now was hope that he would not resent you for the trickery and do something terrible to your family.

"No..." You shifted in your seat, uncomfortable, casting about for something to show him that you might potentially be worth his time. "I read, sire. I taught myself to read, and enjoy it, whenever I find the time." There. At the very least, you were not a completely dull and uneducated wretch. "I am not much fun at formal dinners or fancy balls, I'm afraid, but I have that, at least." His gaze rested heavy on your face, but you refused to meet his eyes. Your cheeks were burning. Surely he had better things to do with his time than sit with you and listen to your stories. At the very least, he had to have other women waiting anxiously for his attention, ready and willing to give him pleasures you could hardly even imagine. But here he sat, completely focused on you as though you were some kind of intriguing puzzle, or a brand new book just waiting to be enjoyed.

"Come over here," he said finally, and indicated the space next to his chair. "I would like to kiss you."

Your heart sped up inside your chest, knocking against your insides in a way that made you dizzy. But as your prince had already proven, you were not to disobey him, so you rose on your numb and unsteady limbs and approached him. He remained seated, which made you tower over him in a way that made you uncomfortable, so without thinking about it you sank to your knees.

This was why you were here. This was expected of you. This was going to happen at some point anyway, whether or not he said you were expected to come willingly, because this was your purpose. He threaded his fingers through your hair and you allowed your eyes to flutter closed at the touch. Even with your eyes closed, you could sense him coming closer, leaning forward and bringing his mouth to yours. You tilted your head back slightly, expectantly, but then you feel his cool lips pressing not against your mouth but against your forehead. One hand slid around to the back of your head, holding you in place, and the two of you remained that way for what felt like a very long time, not moving, not speaking. Just touching.

Finally he dragged himself away from you, only to replace his lips with his forehead. You were just beginning to relax when his fingers tightened in your hair. He was gripping the strands, tugging just hard enough to be felt but not enough to cause any pain. A sharp puff of air rushed past your lips, and you tried to keep from fighting him.

"You are perfectly worthy of my time." His voice was low. "And I will not hear anything to the contrary, am I understood?" You nodded as well as you could without pulling your own hair. "I desire you. I chose you. Even if you do not understand my choices, I expect that you will, at the very least, trust my judgment as your lord and prince. In return, I will make you see why you were chosen." His touch slackened back into gentle caresses, and he brushed a thumb across your forehead. "Will my lady kiss me now?"

Your poor heart, which had only just begun to settle, began thudding quickly again. It was one thing to think about allowing him to press his kiss upon you, but now to be expected to be the one to kiss him? While the girls around you had been giggling and kissing boys behind buildings, you had been reading. You didn't know how to kiss a man, let alone a prince. But you would not spoil the uneasy agreement between the two of you by refusing his request. You gathered your every last nerve and placed your hands on his knees to steady yourself as you stretched toward his lips. He sat motionless at first, so you couldn't be sure whether you were doing it to his satisfaction, but when his hand came up to brush his fingers along your throat, the action told you that you were doing just fine.

There was no doubt in your mind that he could feel your pulse thrumming against his fingertips, especially when you parted your lips just slightly and ran your tongue along his lower lip. He made a sound, like a growl in the base of his throat, and took control. His tongue pushed its way into your mouth, exploring and dominating without demanding. This was not how you would have expected Prince Loki to kiss a woman, but then again maybe this was only the beginning.

But he stopped, then, and pulled back just far enough to mumble against your lips. "Your heart. Are you frightened still?"

"Please forgive me, my prince. I just have not..." Your face was burning now, and there was no doubt in your mind that you had flushed crimson. Girls in your village were expected to remain pure for heir husbands, of course, but at your age you were expected to at least have done some kissing. Poor prince. Every turn was revealing some new shortcoming, some flaw in your personality.

But he was smiling. He was smiling against your mouth, and kissed you again before bringing the two of you to your feet. He held your body pressed tightly against his own, with one hand at the back of your neck and the other pressed to the small of your back. "I thank you, my lady, for sharing such a moment with me. I would not have minded, of course, if a hundred other men had touched you before me, as you are mine now and that is all that matters, but I must admit that there's a certain thrill in knowing that none have come before me."

You tried—and failed—to suppress a yawn that was based less on boredom than it was on pure physical exhaustion. As soon as you'd closed your mouth again, you found yourself staring at your prince with pure horror. "Sire! I am sorry! Please, please, my lord prince, forgive my unforgivable rudeness. I did not mean to offend!" Yawning in the face of a royal mere seconds after he reminded you of his intentions to bed you...it may have been the most dangerous thing you'd done all night. Tears sprang unbidden to your eyes, and your mind cast about for some kind of explanation you could offer, but his hands were pulling you closer, pressing your head against his shoulder and—and he was laughing?

"Darling, you have not offended me. I understand. Your body is exhausted. You have not eaten. You have not slept well. My temper is not so short that you should beg forgiveness for having a body and physical needs. Sleep. I will come back again."

And somehow, despite your racing mind and overworked heart, you slept: immediately and deeply.


	4. Chapter 4

When you woke up the next morning, it was to the older servant bringing your breakfast tray. When she saw you sit up, she smirked and it was almost enough to make you refuse to eat once again merely on principle. Although she was aged and careworn like a mother, that was about as far as her motherliness seemed to go.

"We all heard about the prince's visit to your chambers," she said. "Are you finally starting to accept your purpose here?"

You didn't answer; it was hardly any of her business either way. She finally shook her head and let it go. "He sent you something. He must like you better than I do. It's on the tray. Someone'll be in with your clothes in a bit."

You got out of bed and went to the tray. Next to the usual array of bread and fruits was a thick book with a worn spine. You couldn't tear your eyes off of it, even when the younger girl came in to help you dress. When you were finally alone again, you folded yourself into the window seat and began reading.

It was a story you'd not read before, about a boy who found himself lost and subsequently swept into another boy's life, only to be discovered and imprisoned years later for treachery. You'd devoured half of it even before someone came with a second tray. You read while you ate, taking advantage of the fact that there was no one here to ridicule you for eating at the table, though you had to be exceedingly careful not to drop anything on the pages. They had so obviously been much treasured. You lost yourself in the lonely world of the book, and didn't even look up when someone brought a third tray to your room.

The boy had escaped from prison, and was now lost among strangers, and it did not look as though he would ever find a way home, judging by the fact that only a few pages were left before the end. Indeed, the story ended bleakly, with the boy (now a man) freezing to death on a cliff, and the tears blurred your vision. When you finally finished, you closed the book and stared at the cover as you tried to get your emotions back under control.

The boy's situation, at least in prison, was fleetingly similar to yours, of course, but that wasn't why you felt it so strongly. The boy had spent his whole life cold and alone, and the ending hadn't even given him the briefest of reprieves. His whole purpose was to suffer, and the world had made sure that it happened.

Finally you wiped your eyes on the hem of your skirt and unfolded yourself from the window. It was only then that you realized you were not alone. Prince Loki stood at the table near your tray, hands clasped behind his back. He was watching you, though you could not tell whether his eyes held amusement or impatience. You drew your hands across your face. Not only had you made him wait, but you were almost certainly red-faced and puffy from crying—completely inappropriate for an audience with the prince.

"Please forgive me, sir," you gasped, trying now to smooth your hair. "I didn't know you were here. I would never have ignored you or made you wait if I had known. Sire…did I make you wait very long?"

"I am a prince, pet," Loki said patiently and indicated that, as before, you were to take the seat across from him. "No one can make me do anything. I enjoyed watching you read. You show all of your emotions on your face. You're not afraid." He paused, watching you. "Did you like the book?"

"I did, sire," you answered, shyly. It was not often that you were able to discuss your books with anybody. Often you had dreamed of finding someone to talk to about them, but you were still so unsure of this man. "But…it was so sad."

He reached across the table to touch your face gently. When he pulled his fingers away, they came back wet with tears you had missed. "So I see. I have never found it quite sad enough to cry over. Why did you cry?"

Was he teasing you? If your father or brother had seen you, they would have been merciless. But he seemed interested, actually awaiting your answer. His eyes were fixed unblinking on your face—they should have been serpentine, unnerving, but somehow they did not bother you as much as perhaps they should have.

"The man, sire…the character in the story?" How did he not see it? "He spends his whole life miserable and alone among strangers. No one will accept him."

"My lady, he impersonated one of the members of the divine family, and tricked many of the court officials into countless evil deeds. He was a villain." His face was bewildered, but something told you that it was mere contrivance.

In any case, that part of the story had not escaped you. "I did not read him that way. He believed he was doing what was right for his people. I saw him as misguided, perhaps, at worst disillusioned, but not willfully evil." But you kept your voice soft, unobtrusive. You weren't certain whether this sort of discussion would be well-received. Did people do this? Talk about literature in such ways? More importantly: would your arguments anger him?

But a secret smile made its way across his face. "That is what I have tried to tell my brother for my entire life, but he will not listen. I am glad to find someone who understands."

A peculiar warmth flooded through you then, something you would never have imagined could have come from this prince. Without thinking about it, you reached out to touch his hand where it rested on the table. He did not move, and you had to fight the growing horror that rose within you. You had touched a prince without permission. That was…it was incredibly presumptuous, not to mention dangerous. But then again, maybe it was expected in your position? Maybe the rules were different for you, just slightly.

"Gentle heart," his voice was quiet, as though perhaps he had been talking to himself. His other hand covered yours, swallowing it up in his cool touch. "You read quickly, to have finished that book so quickly. Or did you merely skim the pages?"

"No, sire, I read it all in its entirety!" You responded immediately, almost indignantly, before you saw the teasing smile in his eyes. Of course. "I had to learn to read very quickly at home. Reading was…not approved of, so I had to do it in secret." Whenever your father caught you reading instead of doing something more profitable for him, you'd catch a beating.

"The more I learn about your home, the more miraculous you become," he mused. "You could so easily have become another cheap, dull wench from the village, but here you are."

You opened your mouth to deny his assertion, to insist that you were really nothing at all, but you remembered his outburst from the night before and held your tongue. "You…flatter me greatly, my lord prince." Your cheeks were burning and you had to avert your eyes.

"You are my guest here. It sounds absurd for you to address me so formally all the time." He wiped his mouth with a napkin and sat back in his chair. "You may call me simply Loki, if you wish. After all, we _will_ become intimate, and what do you expect to call me in your throes of passion? Sire? My lord? They are all perfectly acceptable, pet, but they are also a bit of a mouthful." His smile held traces of his trademark mischief now, and your cheeks burned even hotter than before. He was not wrong, of course, but it was still a thought that gave you some trouble.

"Loki." It felt strange on your tongue: foreign. You stole a glance at your prince to see if he had reacted, and saw that he was still smirking. "It will take some getting used to, my lor—Loki, but I will do my best."

"'My Loki', she says," he teased. "I will admit that I like the sound of that as well."

"If you don't mind, sire, I should prefer to take things one step at a time."

He laughed then, loud and long and genuinely, but finally nodded his agreement. You finished eating, then, and he asked you questions about your family and village and childhood. On the rare occasions when you summoned enough courage to ask him questions in return, he was relatively open and shared more than you asked, or even had a right to expect. This was not the man you had imagined at all. When you accidentally let it slip that you grew restless, cooped up in a single room all day and all night, instead of getting angry as he could have—should have—done, he leapt to his feet and pulled you up as well.

"Come, my lady. I will take you on a tour of your home. I should have done this last night, but I feared you were too weak for such a journey."

The palace seemed even larger on the inside than the outside. It was a good thing you had not tried to escape that first night—you could easily have gotten hopelessly lost and never found your way back to the room, let alone to an exit. The prince did not let go of your hand even when servants passed you and whispered. If anything, you could feel his grip tighten during these interactions. It was surprisingly reassuring and allowed you to walk past them with your head held high, as he did.

You ended up in the garden, and as soon as the night air kissed your skin you felt like crying with happiness. When you had finished drinking it all in—the heady perfume of the night flowers blooming in the moonlight, the cool enchanted breeze that kissed your skin and lifted your hair off of the back of your neck, the lights twinkling in the tops of the trees and in the flowerbeds—you looked over at Loki. He was standing there looking thoughtful with his arms crossed in front of him. Maybe it was the night intoxicating your senses, or the lights that caught his hair, or the small lines pulling at the corners of his mouth, but you approached him shyly and, before you could lose your nerve, stood up on your tiptoes to kiss him. His reaction was not the calm and even one from the night before. Instead, his arms wrapped tightly around you and he backed you up against the trunk of a tall tree. It was he who deepened the kiss tonight, probing expertly. Expectantly.

Apparently satisfied that you were securely pressed between the solid trunk and his own long, lean body, Loki allowed his hands to roam your body. You squirmed ticklishly when he caressed the valleys of your waist on the way to grip your hips, but managed to keep from laughing into his mouth. His hands moved back up to cup your breasts through the bodice of your gown. This was new and, frankly, a bit intimidating, but you did not feel the urge to freeze under his touch as you had before. Instead, you pressed forward, against him and into his hands.

Someone clearing their throat softly behind you saved you from any further nerves. Loki, on the other hand, growled with frustration, and the sound resonated throughout your entire body. He pulled away and turned to give your visitor a level glare. As soon as your eyes made out the form in front of you, you stood up straighter than you ever had before and lowered your eyes. Loki was nonplussed.

"Your Highness," you mumbled, and sank into a deep curtsy.

"Hello, child." It sounded as though she was smiling, but how could you be certain. You couldn't decide whether to apologize fiercely to your queen for such behavior or defer to your prince. He was standing there carefree and unabashed, so perhaps you would not be reprimanded. "Are you enjoying my gardens?"

"We are, Mother," Loki replied.

"Good." She was still smiling, probably, and slowly you felt yourself start to relax. You remained bolt upright, of course, and you still did not look at her, but your heart rate gradually returned to something more closely approaching normal. Now you felt only embarrassment that the Queen had seen you in such a position. But then, she'd known at the ball that it was inevitable, had she not?

"Child." She was addressing you again, and you fell into another curtsy at the sound of her voice. "Do not permit my son to keep you too long from sleep. A lady needs her rest."

"Yes, your Highness," you managed. "Thank you most sincerely for your kindness, my Queen."

Though you were not looking, you felt a Look pass between the prince and his mother, and then, with a grand swishing of her skirts, she swept away. Loki turned back to you and pressed his lips to the base of your throat where your pulse still thrummed. "Your heart is racing, pet. Do you fear my mother?"

"She is the Queen." Was the answer not obvious?

"She is your host as well."

"Is she so kind to all of your ladies?" You had heard of her kindness, of course, but it seemed to you that a queen would have better things to do than inquire after the rest and well-being of a palace whore.

Loki pulled away and looked at you. His eyes searched yours. "You've mentioned these women before. Just how many others do you presume I keep?"

This was strange. You fought to find the proper words. "I mean no offense, my lord. I just… I thought… I don't know, but was the ball not meant for selecting several…ah…sire, forgive me, but companions?" Wasn't that how it had always been? You searched your memory to try to find out where you might have been led astray, but found nothing. Your face was burning again, and the prince let out a cold laugh, sharp in the nighttime air.

"Do you think I would take many like you, with such disdain for me? Do you think I have the patience to wait for other women to warm their hearts toward me?"

"I am sorry, my lord prince, but I thought…there were many girls in attendance who were willing…who…you would not have had to wait for." Your voice grew softer and softer as you tried not to further anger him.

"They are cheap!" He spat, and began to pace in front of you. "Every last one of them, lusting after a man they know only through village gossip and none of them with sense enough to fear me." He whirled to face you again. "If you had suffered my kiss on the ballroom floor, I would have had to send you back to your boorish family, but you, you of all those slags that night had the audacity and the wisdom to fear me."

"And now you are determined to break my will." The words came unbidden, and you clasped your hands over your treasonous mouth even as you watched your prince's eyes turn to stone. You sank to your knees. "Please, my lord prince. I spoke without thinking. I beg you most humbly, please forgive me." Or kill me swiftly, you added to yourself.

"I could break you." His voice was cool and dangerous once more. You heard him approach you, and then his hands were fisted in your hair as he pressed your face against his trousers. You clenched your eyes tightly but would not cry out. "If I desired. There is not a soul in all of Asgard who would come to your aid even if your most piteous screams filled the skies." He turned your face to one side now and tilted your head back sharply so that you were looking up at him. "But I have already told you that I prefer not to break my things." His talons softened again into fingertips and he loosened his grip on your hair so that he was caressing you once more. "And you will come to me of your own accord. It will mean nothing if you come under duress." He continued to pet you and gazed down at your face. He was unfathomable at best, especially here in the darkness. "And I do believe I asked you to cease the 'my lord prince' nonsense."

"Yes, Loki." You could not tear your eyes from his face even as he lifted you to your feet once more. "I did not intend to hurt you…"

"You could not hurt me, pet. I could do far worse things to you than your gentle heart could even fathom, and you are worried about hurting me." But he was smiling again, and you gathered your nerve to tilt your head forward to kiss him lightly. He was dangerous and ever-changing, but you could not deny his charm. His hands cupped your cheeks and he pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose. "Come. Mother would not be pleased if I kept you out all night."

He took your hand and led you back into the palace, and then up to your quarters although he made no move to come inside. Instead, he lifted your hand to his mouth to allow his breath to ghost over your knuckles. "Goodnight, my lady. I may return tomorrow if my duties permit. If not, perhaps we will meet in your dreams tonight." With another smirk and a wink, he was gone.

Strangely enough, you did dream of the prince. You were in the garden again, pinned against a tree as his hands roamed along your body. Your heart was in your throat, and though you knew he had said he would wait for your consent, you feared that he would grow impatient and take you by force. But he did not. His touch did become rougher and rougher, however, until it seemed like he was ripping away at your skin with each caress. You opened your mouth to protest, but no sound could come out. All you could do was stand there passively as the prince took bite after bite from your flesh. He was going to eat you alive, and there was nothing you could do about it.


	5. Chapter 5

Just when you feared you would be trapped in the dream with the monster forever, you opened your eyes and saw the younger servant girl kneeling above you. She looked worried.

"Are you homesick, my lady?" she whispered, and slid off of your bed. "Forgive me for being so forward, miss, but you were crying, and I couldn't wake you. Are you hurt? I can get you a doctor."

"No…that won't be necessary, but thank you. Very much." You sat up slowly. You just needed to wake up, that was all, and remember where you were in the present. You were not in the garden. "It was just a bad dream. I'll be just fine." You smiled sheepishly at her, and she patted your leg through the blankets.

"It's the palace what does it, all old and drafty. I had bad dreams when I first got here too. They'll go away."

That was startling. You'd assumed that, because she was so young, she'd simply been born here to a servant or something like that. You studied her face, wishing you could find her story printed there. She caught you looking but merely grinned. "Your breakfast is getting cold. They said you weren't waking, so I was to come in and try." Now she was looking almost wistfully at the tray, and you remembered what you'd been told: there were people in the palace who hadn't had food like that in a long time, and you wondered if she was one of those people.

"There sure is a lot of food there," you said thoughtfully, and watched her out of the corner of your eyes. "I don't know how I'll ever be able to eat it all." She glanced at your hopefully, but just as quickly, her gaze skittered away. "Do you think you could help me?"

She stood quickly, with her arms clasped behind her back. "I really shouldn't, m'lady. We could get in trouble."

"Suit yourself then," you said gently. You sank your teeth into a piece of cool, sweet fruit and pretended to ignore her in favor of the juice running down your chin. She wavered and finally sat herself in the chair across from you.

"Take anything you'd like. There's enough of everything for both of us. I think perhaps the royal cooks aren't used to preparing food for simple tastes like ours."

She did. She ate ravenously, telling you that they got porridge every morning, but it was never quite enough, and it didn't satisfy the way other food could. She thanked you over and over, even after you'd both sat back with full bellies. It was nice, having company that didn't terrify you at times, and this girl, like Sigg at the ball, felt almost like a little sister. The one you had been denied. It was only then that she leaped out of her chair.

"I've stayed too long, Miss!" she said, and hastily swiped her hand across her mouth. "I've other duties! I can't get behind. I'm sorry to run, but I have to!" She left, and her absence made you feel your homesickness and loneliness that much more keenly. It was ridiculous, that you should find yourself longing for the company of the man who took you from your home, but you would even submit to his moods if it meant he would also provide you with conversation. You curled up in the window once more. This must be his plan, you told yourself: to starve you for contact with others so that you would become more…amenable.

It wouldn't work. You would grit your teeth and accept your solitude, and he would not win. Anyway, you could really go for days without speaking to another person, especially when you told yourself that the alternative would be speaking with your father, and you'd only been alone for less than an hour. This was nothing. Briefly, you considered rereading the book you'd been given, but you were not really in the mood to cry again. So you sat, wondering what was happening at home, or with Sigg, or with any of the girls who had been excited to attend the ball. What happened when they returned? Were their families relieved to see them safely home again, or would they be upset about the lack of payment?

Loki did not come to you that evening, and it was surprisingly easy to tell yourself that you were not disappointed. He was not going to become your whole life, even if you had no real life outside of your quarters.

You slept fitfully, though without nightmares, which led you to count it a successful night. The next morning, as before, the girl with the dresses lingered just long enough to wolf down her share of your breakfast, and you were glad to see that already her cheeks held more color. When she left, she thanked you profusely and even bobbed a quick curtsy. You couldn't help but feel uncomfortable about her gesture: the two of you weren't really so far removed in status.

Shortly after breakfast, someone else came to your door. They knocked, which of course was ridiculous since your door had always been locked from the outside, and slowly it swung open. Another servant, closer to your own age than either of the others you had met, stepped inside and smiled kindly.

"I was told to escort you to the library, my lady," she said. "His lord the prince sends his regrets, but his business shall keep him from you another day longer. He does not with you to grow restless in his absence."

You slid to your feet. "Oh—I…no, it's no trouble…"

"If you'll just come with me, my lady. It is a wonderful library." Her tone, though friendly, was brusque and did not invite discussion.

Rather than continue to argue, you nodded and followed her as she led you through the corridors. You committed the path to memory as best as you could, so that you might be able to find your way back on your own if necessary. In any case, you didn't want to remain so dependent on the inhabitants of the palace for the entire duration of your stay.

The girl stopped in front of a set of heavy double doors and threw them open. You had to catch your breath. The room alone was easily five times the size of your father's house, and the walls were filled, floor-to-ceiling, with shelves of books. There were freestanding shelves besides, rows and rows of them punctuated with tables and plush chairs and cushions alike. A fireplace burned cheerfully at one end of the room and made you realize for the first time since your arrival that the palace was indeed rather cold and drafty. You looked at the girl who had brought you to this beautiful place, aching to thank her, but the words stuck in your throat. She was smiling again.

Finally you found your voice. "Thank you." It sounded rough, overcome as you were with emotion.

"Do not thank me, my lady. I am only following orders." But her cheeks flushed a lovely pink. "Would you prefer to be left here alone, my lady, or will you require my further company?"

You were almost too distracted by the dizzying display of books to realize what she had said, but when her words clicked in your mind, you turned to look at her again. "I would not wish to keep you from other duties or get you into trouble, but I…" You laughed at yourself and lowered your eyes. "I have not had much contact with other people, and so would very much enjoy your company."

"Of course, my lady." She seemed relieved. "I have been placed in your service for all of today, so anything you require, I will take care of."

"In that case…" You looked around the room again. You had never seen so many books in one place—it was hard to even imagine that so many books could exist in the first place. "What is your favorite book? Where shall I start?"

Her eyes widened and she shook her head. "Apologies, miss, but the last time I had any time to read, I was very young. I have lived here my whole life, and duties are assigned as soon as the children are useful. I'm afraid I cannot help you."

It took a few moments for you to wrap your mind around the fact that this girl's life had been so full of toil and drudgery that she had not even had time to escape into the world of books. Even with your father being who he was, you'd managed to find a few minutes here and there to sneak up a tree or into the cellar with a book. She did not look dirty or haggard or ill-used, but you'd always felt that there was something missing from a life without books.

"Then I am very glad you have been asked to stay with me, because now you have all of the rest of the day to catch up on all the books you've missed out on." You smiled widely at her, and she made an attempt to return the expression, but something seemed to fall flat. "Please, you should choose anything you wish to read. I am sure Prince Loki would want you to."

You wandered through the stacks, and tried to get a feel for the titles contained therein. As your eyes skimmed the spines, they fell on many names that were familiar to you from your childhood, but you skipped over them. The words might refresh your homesickness, after all, and you wished to avoid that. Finally, you chose a book with a spine even more worn than the book that the prince had given you, and sank into one of the chairs near the fireplace. You could hear the servant girl moving through the room, and not long after you sat down, she joined you. You noticed, however, that she did not actually appear to be reading much of anything—she rarely turned a page, but seemed to stare at the words before her for a long time.

With a pang, and then a jolt of frustration at your own obliviousness, you realized that servants would probably not have been given much of an education beyond what was necessary for their service. Even in a palace run by a benevolent queen, it was unlikely that servants would be taught to read much literature. But you didn't know how to approach the topic. On the one hand, perhaps the girl didn't mind merely sitting in a warm, quiet room full of fragrant books, but you still felt it wrong that she had no access to the words. The problem remained, however: how could you possibly ask her to confirm your suspicions without embarrassing her?

Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately), she looked up just then, and caught you staring at her. Her face blushed a deep scarlet, and she looked away again. "I am sorry, miss. I led you astray, perhaps. I cannot read very well."

Aha. "No, no," you replied quickly. "I'm sorry for not realizing sooner. How stupid of me!" Before she could protest, you jumped out of the chair and returned to the stacks, this time searching for something more suitable for reading aloud. Your eyes fell on a familiar-looking spine, and you pulled it from the shelves. It was a book you had read late in your childhood, not long before your father made you start wearing dresses instead of trousers in order to attract attention from would-be suitors. It was some kind of silly fantasy, with animals that talked and performed magic tricks on occasion, but you remembered liking it quite a bit. You returned to where you'd originally been standing. The servant girl was still sitting where you'd left her—she hadn't moved an inch, except to track your movements, apparently. You held up the book, feeling giddy.

"We can read this one together," you explained. "It's interesting, but not too difficult. It's a good one to practice with. Come to one of these tables so you can see better."

She struggled for a moment, perhaps trying to decide if it was appropriate for her to continue to protest, but she did finally rise to her feet and join you. You spent the afternoon poring over the book together, and although you were never a very good teacher, your student was a fast learner and by the time the skies outside the library windows were growing dark, she was reading entire pages on her own, with growing confidence. The two of you finished the book together, and as you closed the cover, she stifled a yawn.

"It's getting late, isn't it? I should go back to my room." She was not the only one growing tired, after all. You placed the books back on the shelves from which they had come. You would have liked to have kept the first book to read in your room later that night, but you did not wish to take advantage of the kindness that had granted you access to this library in the first place. "Thank you very much for your company today." You curtsied slightly as the two of you rose to your feet, and she seemed taken aback as she returned the gesture.

"No, my lady, thank _you_. Words cannot express how grateful I am for what you've done today." The way she was speaking, it was as though she thought you had performed some great miracle for her, when really you were being self-serving at best. She was good company. You couldn't help but wonder how she was treated by other residents in the palace: if she was dismissed and ignored, or if anyone had ever shown her any real kindness. That was one question you knew you could not ask.

When you returned to your quarters, supper was waiting for you, the food once again steaming merrily on the tray. As you ate, you were pleased to note that your day of companionship had refreshed your mind, as it were, and now you were able to take pleasure in your solitude. Even when you stretched out in the cool sheets of your bed, you found yourself smiling and drinking in the strange peace that surrounded you.


	6. Chapter 6

Before I get on with this chapter, I just wanted to thank everyone who's been reading and reviewing. Obviously I'm thrilled that so many people are taking the time just to read this story, but it's a great feeling to get feedback in return. I'm sort of struggling with this story now: I know what I want to happen, but I'm having trouble getting it to actually happen while keeping Loki even somewhat in-character. (I'm aware that this whole premise/story is pretty out-of-character for Loki, but judging by the responses I'm getting, nobody really seems to mind, heh!) And then my computer ate five pages of the next chapter-pages that I was really struggling with-which has kind of temporarily sapped my motivation to continue. Don't worry! I don't actually plan on stopping, but until I push through those five pages again, I'm finding it hard to make myself open up the document. If you're a writer (and most of you probably are, right?) then you probably know how that goes!

I know that interactive, reader-driven stories are against the rules, and I do have a certain direction in mind for this story, but if you have any ideas for little scenes or questions that you want answered, please don't hesitate to get in touch with me somehow: PM or email or smoke signals or whatever.

Aaand finally, this chapter does contain some ~adult material. There's no physical violence or threats, so if you're worried about getting triggered by something like that, you should be safe. But if you feel like you need to avoid stuff like that _just in case_, drop me a line and I can send you a cleaned-up version of this chapter so you don't miss out on anything!

Again, thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's been rough!

* * *

There were no nightmares that night, either, though your dreams were only slightly less unsettling. You dreamed of long elegant fingers tracing patterns against the skin of your belly, dipping lower between your thighs and making you arch desperately into the touch. His mouth pressed soft kisses to your skin, interspersed with gentle, knowing bites as his teeth tugged at tender flesh. This was certainly the antithesis to the nightmare you'd had the night before, and when the morning light spilling through your bedroom windows, you rose from your bed reluctantly.

No one had arrived with either clothes or breakfast, but it hardly mattered. You bathed on your own and though you struggled a bit with the content of your dream (or, perhaps more specifically, the central character therein), the hot water in the tub relaxed and cleansed you. Mere days ago, you would have deemed such a thing unthinkable, even abhorrent in your situation, but in the privacy of your bathroom and the afterglow of the dream, it was quite easy to slip back into the world of the dream.

When you re-entered your sleeping quarters, it was not the young kitchen girl who greeted you, but the older woman. She indicated a green silken tunic and trousers laid out on the bed. "No gown for the lady-beast today," she said, and you tried your best not to roll your eyes. "The prince wishes to take you riding, so eat quickly and then dress before he gets here. He doesn't like to be kept waiting, you know."

You very nearly spoke up to contradict her, to tell her that he didn't seem to mind waiting for you in particular, but decided it was best to just leave it alone. She already didn't seem to care much for you, and you didn't want word of your attitude making its way around the castle or something like that. Surely the Queen would not like to hear that one of her guests—especially one of your position—was being haughty to a servant already. So you ate, and then worked your hair into braids to keep it from getting in the way while riding. You'd never been riding before, and thus wanted as few distractions or complications as possible.

Not long after you'd finished getting ready, someone rapped lightly on your door, and then entered. You were less than surprised to see the prince, groomed and dressed well but looking exhausted—and incredibly beat-up. Barely-healed scrapes and cuts marred the pale skin of his face, and a dark bruise peeked out from his collar. You stood frozen. Part of you wanted to go to him and study the wounds on his face, but you were still…unsure of him. He saw you looking at him and offered a smile that, though tentative, lit up his eyes nonetheless.

"It's nothing, pet," he said, and gestured towards his face. "My brother and I merely ran into some rough company on our way back to the palace last night. You can rest assured that they have been caught and appropriately punished." He went to you and took your hand to raise it to his lips. When your eyes met, it sent a thrill rushing through your entire body. There was a knowing look in his eyes, like he could see what you had dreamed about, but of course that was ridiculous. And if his touch seemed to linger…well, that was certainly just your imagination.

"Thank you for having me shown to the library," you said in a rush. Anything to keep from acknowledging that smirk. "Sire, it was breathtaking."

"My only regret is that I could not watch your face as you took it all in. Perhaps another time." Loki lowered but did not release your hand. "Are you ready? Our horses are being prepared in the stables."

He led you through the castle and out onto the grounds, and soon you were standing next to two beautiful (though very large) horses. He swung easily into his saddle, but you were left standing awkwardly next to your own creature. In theory, it was easy to get into the saddle—lift a foot into the stirrup and then swing your leg over. You'd seen it done a million times in town, but the horses had never seemed so tall there. You did not have to look at your prince to know that he was looking at you with some mixture of amusement and impatience. Your face was burning as you struggled with one stirrup. The horse gave an indignant snort and began to shuffle away from you, which of course threw you off balance.

"I have never ridden," you offered, more to the horse than the prince. You heard Loki guide his own horse over to you, and before you could breathe a word, one strong arm was wrapped around your waist as he scooped you up onto his own horse. You yelped with surprise, but he had already seated you securely in front of him by the time the fear could really set in.

"I will not let you fall, my lady," he breathed into your ear, and there was no way that he missed the shudder that traveled through your body. After a little more adjusting, he ordered the horse into a gentle trot. He kept one arm wrapped around your waist as you rode, but you could not release your grip on the horse's mane. The feeling of the horse's muscles rippling beneath you was exhilarating, and the speed at which you were moving made you laugh with excitement. Behind you, Loki pressed his nose to your hair just above your ear, and you heard him breathe deeply. Another unmistakable shiver.

He shifted the reins, and then moved his hand from your waist to trace a line down your wrist and to your fingers, which were still knotted painfully in the horse's mane. You felt him pressing something against your hand—the reins—and allowed him to slip them between your fingers. Once he was sure of your grip, he moved his other arm to wrap around your waist as well, leaving you holding the thin strips of leather that were expected to control the large, strong creature beneath the two of you.

"You are riding, my lady," Loki whispered, and his breath was hot against your ear. He was holding your waist tightly—more tightly, probably, than was necessary to keep either of you sitting astride the beast—but, strangely enough, you did not mind. You even felt yourself relaxing against his body: not too much, of course, but enough that you were able to fit yourself against his chest. "How does it feel?"

'Frightening' was your first thought, but you held your tongue. This was clearly something that he enjoyed, and you didn't want to look as though you were afraid of everything. Growing up, you had had relatively few fears: you'd never been the type to scream or faint even at the sight of the small venemous things that skittered through the streets. So you thought for a moment, and found the answer bubbling up in your chest like laughter. "Brilliant." You found yourself laughing even as he sank his teeth lightly into the exposed skin of your neck.

After a little while longer, he took control of the horse once again, but only to bring it to a stop. He slid off and helped you to the ground. You were far from the castle, or so it seemed. The landscape was wildly different from the rolling glittery hills that had surrounded your village. It was dry and dusty, and large rocks and cliffs were everywhere. And yet there was a desolate beauty to be found in the stones and the dirt, and you couldn't stop looking around you.

Finally, Loki pulled you to the ground, where you realized that he had laid out a blanket. He crouched there, watching you with a predatory grin on his face. "My lady, you look almost peaked." His voice held some level of concern, but…that look in his eyes was too knowing. "Have you been sleeping well?"

You sat down beside him without being prompted, and welcomed the movement as it allowed you to hide your face from him. Because despite rumors that the royal blood had been blessed long ago by some mystical crone, your prince was certainly only human, right? He had no more way of knowing your dreams than you had of knowing his mind. But when you were settled, he closed cool fingers around your chin and pulled your face up so that you were looking into his eyes. He expected an answer.

"I have, my lord. Thank you for your concern. My bed is most comfortable, and I sleep very well. Perhaps it is just from the excitement of riding."

"Perhaps." He brushed his fingers along your cheekbone, and then allowed them to drop to the blanket once more. As you sat, fighting to maintain the appropriately perfect posture, the prince stretched out onto his back, arms spread wide under the sun. He breathed deeply and, when you looked behind you, you could see that his eyes were closed. "My lady, is this not the most glorious place you have ever seen? Much better than that dank old castle."

You were stuck. You would not disagree with him, of course, but to agree with him would be to insult his parents' home. And, of course, remaining silent was no option either: he would expect some sort of response. Sure enough, as you sat struggling to find a suitable answer, he cracked one eye open to look at you.

"Pet?" His voice was gentle. "Are you quite alright?"

"I am so very sorry, sire," you mumbled. "I guess I must be more tired than I thought. I mean no disrespect."

"Lie here with me, then." It was not a request. Though his voice was soft and seemed to demand nothing from you, you knew this was not to be denied. So, uncomfortably, you stretched out on your side with your head propped on one hand. Loki smiled at you, and his hand came to rest in the curve of your waist. "Is that better?"

"Yes, sire." It was not quite a lie.

He spread his fingers, and through the silk of your top you could feel the coolness of his skin. Neither of you said a word as he slipped his hand beneath the fabric, trailing his fingertips up past your belly. You flinched once, just barely, as he traced a line against the skin just under your breasts, but made no move to stop him. He was a confusing man: resisting him made him angry, but apparently not resisting him, like the girls at the ball, would make him think you cheap. His eyes, sharp but not cold, sought yours, and you tried to plead with him with your own.

"What frightens you?" he asked. His fingers stilled but remained pressed against you. "Are you afraid of being seen? I assure you, there is no one around for miles." A wry grin. "Besides, I will not take this as far as perhaps you fear. You will come to me, remember?"

"Yes, my lord." He narrowed his eyes at you before you could lower yours, and you corrected yourself. "Yes, Loki. I remember."

"What, then?" He rolled to face you, head propped in a similar manner to yours.

You had no answer to offer him. You would flinch from any man's touch in so intimate a location, prince or no. It wasn't…appropriate. _Ah, but you're wrong_, you reminded yourself. _This is your position now. It has become appropriate._ "Will you think me cheap?"

Your voice was small, pathetic and almost lost in the wide open space that surrounded you, but it did reach your prince's ears because he laughed and moved forward to take your lips. "No, darling. I know you are not." His hand moved again, and this time he cupped your breast in his palm. Your breath hitched as his thumb brushed against your nipple, and you watched the corner of his mouth quirk again.

He pulled away, but only long enough to sit up and press your shoulders down against the blanket, at which point he returned it to its place beneath your top. You couldn't hold back your gasp when he tweaked your nipple between his fingers, and he lowered his lips to yours. "I am no monster, darling, though I do hunger." His voice was rough, but there was something beneath it that sounded almost like desperation. Strange. Exceedingly strange. "Allow me to show you."

What could you deny this man, the royal prince who had shown the greatest concern for your comfort and pleasures? You drew in a shaky breath and nodded, and your eyes slipped closed as he resumed kissing you. But this was more than a kiss. He was threatening to devour you, exploring your mouth fiercely with lips and tongue and teeth sunk into your lower lip. You almost didn't notice when his hand moved from your breast to press against your belly, then dip beneath the waist of your trousers, but there was no mistaking the cool touch of his fingers as they slipped between your legs to part you.

You pulled away from his kiss and met his eyes, which were dark as he stared intently at you. He held your gaze—you could not look away—as one elegant finger sought, then entered, and you had to fight to keep from pressing your thighs together. You were unsure whether you wanted to force him out or hold him tightly in place. Apparently, he saw the struggle in your face, because he smiled again as he started to pull back only to re-enter. Your lips parted, and almost despite yourself, your hips began to move with his rhythm.

"You'll find that I am not so bad, am I?" He murmured and dipped his mouth to the base of your throat. His thumb brushed against that bundle of nerves above your entrance, then drew circles around it, and your hands fisted in the blanket. His pace was tortuously slow, building tension in your muscles and making you crave release. Almost with a mind of its own, one of your hands released the blanket and sought purchase elsewhere—and landed on the rough material that covered the prince's chest.

"Please," you whimpered. "Prince, please don't stop…"

"Say my name," he hissed. "Beg me, darling, and I'll let you come."

You cheeks were burning with embarrassment, with desire, but thankfully, not with shame. He slipped an additional finger inside you and you heard him chuckle when you forced back a moan, but just barely. "Loki." Your voice betrayed your desperation, as though your body could ever hope to hide it. "Please, Loki. Please, my prince, don't stop."

"Ask for it, love," his breath was hot against your ear. You searched his face for clues as to what he wanted from you, but your mind was too hazy to process it properly.

"Let me come, sire," you gasped. "Loki, please—" It was all you had to say. He increased his pace only slightly, just enough to send you over the edge. You strained against him as the pleasure rushed through you, your eyes clenched tightly. You spoke without thinking, without meaning to, and your voice was keening and desperate: "Yes, please, yes yes, Loki, yes…"

When your body returned to normal, the prince only stopped moving: he did not pull away from you. Slowly you opened your eyes against the brightness of the day and found that he was still looking at you. His mouth was parted slightly, lips curled into a small smile, and when he saw you looking, he kissed your forehead lightly. "You should have seen yourself, pet," he said against your mouth. "You are glorious when you're coming."

Now he pulled away, and you felt curiously empty when he did. He pressed his fingers to your lips and you did not need to be ordered to open your mouth or wrap your tongue around them to clean yourself off of him. Still, oddly enough, you felt only a little shame—even when his eyes widened at first with surprise and he sipped once more from your mouth, tasting you as well.

"Thank you, my lord," you finally managed. Your body still felt as though you were glowing, warm and luxurious and surrounded by light and heat. It dissipated, but only slightly, when you found yourself pondering whether you should reciprocate. He would expect it, would he not?

But he just stretched out on the blanket once again, one arm flung over his eyes and the other trailing down your body to find your hand. He did not, however, pull your hand to touch the bulge you could see in his trousers. He was just holding you. You sat up, and your heart was thudding wildly in your chest and your ears, but you pressed your free hand against his arousal anyway.

This had clearly not been expected of you. Loki moved his arm from his eyes to examine you, and the first, confused expression on his face melted into surprised appreciation. You did not move, looking instead for permission in his eyes. Better to appear overly cautious than risk being punished for being too forward. When he nodded, you drew in a deep breath and allowed your fingers to delve beneath his trousers and wrap immediately around the shaft you found therein. His breath escaped his lips in a fierce hiss, but he did not move either to stop you or speed you along.

You had little experience with manhood, but you could tell that he was thick—and hard. Calling upon all the giggly stories you'd heard from the girls in your village, you began to pump, slowly. You watched his face carefully for any sign that you were doing it wrong: hurting him or just being ridiculous in general, but he seemed…pleased. After some time, he lifted his hips and tugged his trousers down just far enough to free his erection. It was just as pale and intimidating in the light as the rest of his body was, and you paused for long enough that he closed his fingers around your hand and opened his eyes to meet yours. They were even darker now than they'd been before when he was watching you.

"Don't stop," he said. "You're doing fine."

So you didn't stop. You continued to touch him even after he let his hand fall back to the blanket. His breathing grew shallower, sharper, and soon he was thrusting up against your hand, his fingers clenched once again around yours. He was coming, you realized, and your cheeks grew hot despite the fact that that had been your express intention. A thick milky fluid shot from the bulbous head of his cock at first, and then dripped down its length and along your fingers. For a long time, he said nothing, and remained motionless but for the heaving of his chest. But finally he pulled your hand away with a groan, and met your eyes.

"Taste it."

That was not what you had been expecting to hear and, quite frankly, it was more than a little alarming.

"Sire?"

He grasped your wrist and held your fingers to your lips. "Taste it."

You were reluctant, but still you couldn't deny him this. Your tongue slipped out from between your lips to taste your prince, and tried (unsuccessfully) to keep your distaste from showing on your face. It was bitter and salty at the same time: not entirely pleasant, but somehow not completely offensive either. Loki caught your expression and chuckled, then pressed you back against the blanket to kiss you deeply.

"I was not expecting that, you know," he said. "But it was very good, all the same."

"Thank you, my… Loki." Your cheeks burned, but you couldn't keep yourself from smiling with something approaching pride. It could not have been particularly spectacular for him: he was a man with a certain reputation and you were a girl who had never even been kissed until only a day or two ago, but perhaps that was the express reason for your pride. You, with all your inexperience and uncertainty, had guided him to orgasm mostly on your own.

"Thank _you_, my pet," he replied with a teasing note in his voice. His fingers tangled in your hair and he moved his mouth to your neck once again. It was difficult to wrap your mind around this new development in your…relationship, though you knew it'd only been a matter of time. If today was any indication, your prince would likely be kind, though demanding, when you finally gave yourself to him. But what came after? Was this stage merely an act?

You allowed your fingers to slide through his glossy black hair, and he growled his pleasure against your neck. He then pressed you back to the blanket and stretched out beside you again. He did not speak, and you did not care to break the silence between you either, so you just watched the sky until your eyes finally closed and you slipped into a light doze.

You dreamed again, dreams just as strange as they'd been that morning: a gasping, desperate heat tempered by an icy touch. All throughout, some small part of your brain protested, though not as vehemently as you thought you probably should have. He grinned up at you from between your legs, and even in the dream you could feel your face burning.

You jolted awake before things could go any farther, and realized that you were pressed against the prince's side as he lay sprawled out on his back, his arm supporting your neck and cradling your head against his shoulder. He still appeared to be asleep, but a smile ghosted across his lips as you studied his face. A moment or two later, he seemed to rouse himself slowly, in stages. First his arm tightened briefly around you, then his lithe body stretched luxuriously, and then he yawned, too loudly and too long for it to be truly genuine. It was only when he finally opened his eyes and gave you yet another predatory smile that you realized you'd been staring. "Did you sleep too?" He asked innocently. "I thought I heard you snoring, my lady."

It was a joke, but you still lowered your gaze. "I do not snore, sire," you mumbled. You didn't actually know whether it was true or not, but it seemed like the only response you could offer.

"Are you certain?" He leaned forward a bit to catch your eyes again, and something glinted in his expression—knowing laughter, perhaps. "I could have sworn… No matter. If you're well-rested, we can go back to the castle. Darkness is fast approaching, and this is no place for a lady, even with an escort like myself." He stood and stretched once last time, and somehow you kept your eyes from skimming over the length of his body. The dreams were just that—dreams—and they were entirely inappropriate. The man was frightening, and dangerous and, regardless of your position in the palace and the things you had done earlier, it was just wrong for you to have such thoughts about him. You should hate him, really, or, at the very least, not have filthy dreams about him every time you closed your eyes.

But he extended his hand to you to help you to your feet, and he held on for a moment longer than he needed to before he stooped to gather the blanket from the ground. His touch was soft. He helped you up onto the horse and then swung himself into the saddle in front of you. "It can be your turn to cling to me this time, my lady," he called over his shoulder as the horse lurched into motion, and he was right: you fastened your arms around the prince's midsection and buried your face in his back. He rode much faster than you had, and you felt less stable sitting behind him, which made your grip necessary. That was what you would tell yourself, anyway.

All too soon, you had arrived back at the castle. You slid down from the horse without help this time, and Loki turned the reins over to a servant in the stables before leading you back inside. You had spent more time together than you'd realized—it was late afternoon, and the light was catching in his eyes, lighting them up in ways you'd not seen before. Once more, you forced such thoughts away. The man was essentially your captor. You would not bend to his will so easily.


	7. Chapter 7

Together, you walked from the stables back into the palace, and you had to concentrate rather hard to keep your focus on the conversation he was making, instead of allowing your mind to turn to the thought of the day's events. The prince noticed your distraction, but, thankfully (and predictably) he seemed to realize the cause. His only action was to slip your hand into the crook of his elbow to guide you along.

"Your company today has been most relaxing, especially after my business away," he said as the two of you stopped in front of your quarters. He pressed a kiss to your knuckles and grinned up at you. "I hope you enjoyed yourself as well?"

"Oh, yes, sire," you answered quickly.

"I am glad." He pushed your door open, and beyond him you could see yet another flowing emerald gown laid out on your bed. "I have been asked to ask you to join us for supper tonight," he said in response to the confusion which surely showed on your face. "Before we left, I gave the orders for something appropriate to be brought up for you. I couldn't resist. You are so very striking in green."

Supper. With an "us" that could really only mean the rest of the royal family. Your mouth suddenly felt dry, and all you could do for several very long moments was nod in response to his question. "I am sorry, Loki. It is beautiful, sire, but…why would I be asked to join you for supper? Who am I to garner such a thing?"

Loki tugged on the ragged end of one braid. "I have told you. You are a guest, and my mother has decreed it inhospitable to keep you locked up in a cage all day. So you will join us, and you will be charming and graceful and my family will see you the same way that I do."

Your mind flashed back to what had happened not all that long ago, on the blanket in the middle of nowhere with the prince's fingers between your legs, and just barely bit back the "I hope not, sire," that rose in your throat. Anyway, it made no sense for a palace whore to join the royal family for a meal—in fact, this felt much like one of Loki's tricks, but you could not argue. He must have seen the reluctance in your face despite your best attempts, because he lifted your hand to brush his lips over your knuckles.

"I will come back to collect you in a bit, my lady. Would you like me to send someone to help you dress?"

"No!" The word shot from your mouth with a laugh—the thought of someone coming to help you dress, as though you couldn't do it yourself, or were perhaps too good to do it yourself, or even that your gown was too complicated was so laughable that you couldn't stop yourself in time. You managed an apologetic smile and shook your head. "No, thank you. I will manage just fine, I believe."

"I thought as much," he said with a smile. "I'll be back later." Then he bowed and walked down the hallway leading away from your room. You closed the door behind him and tried to ignore the gown sitting on your bed. Another bath, maybe. You didn't really need one, but there was no one around to make fun of you or hit you for wasting heat or water, so why not? For the second time that day, you filled the tub with warm water and sank beneath the surface.

Sighing at the comfort of the heat against your bare skin, you untied your braids and worked them apart with your fingers before leaning back against the edge of the tub. If you focused on just one second at a time, you might even be able to convince yourself that you would be able to stay there forever, as opposed to sitting through a night with the royal family. There would probably be others there as well: if _you_ were invited, then surely it was not just for the family itself, and they would likely be distracted by other, more important things than your presence, but it still promised to be an excruciatingly uncomfortable night.

But alas, the water did grow cold, and you had to rush to clean the dirt and grit off of yourself quickly. You dried off just as quickly in the chill air of the castle and then twisted your hair into what you hoped would pass for an elegant updo, but which probably only looked like a servant's hasty work intended to keep her hair out of the ashes. It was the best you could do. You sighed and avoided making eye contact with the looking glass as you ventured out of the washroom.

The gown waiting for you on your bed was easily the loveliest dress you'd seen in your entire life—finer even than the one you wore to the ball, or any that had been provided for you since. The silk was soft and shimmering, and the iridescence threw rainbows across the fabric with every movement. It must have been bewitched somehow, because it fit you beautifully, and although ordinarily the low-cut neckline would have made you uncomfortable, you couldn't help but appreciate the rounded tops of your breasts and the way your skin seemed to glow against the material. The only problem came when you realized that there was a row of tiny buttons running up the back of the dress. You would never be able to fasten it on your own.

You fought valiantly, of course, twisting your body and contorting your arms to try to work as many of the buttons as you could, but even so, at least half of them remained steadfastly out of your reach. Just as you were toying with the idea of putting the gown on backwards and then struggling to turn it around properly again, someone rapped gently on your door. Perhaps Loki had seen through your protests and sent someone to you anyway. You crossed one arm in front of your chest to keep the neckline of the gown in place just as the door swung open.

Really, you shouldn't have been surprised to see those cool blue eyes fixed on you.

"Stunning," he murmured, and bowed. Loki, the prince, bowed to you, the no-account village girl who was completely out of her element. You were so taken aback that you nearly forgot how to respond, but finally you sank into a deep curtsy and remained there, unmoving, until he stalked closer and pressed his fingers under your chin. "It is as I have said. My colors suit you well."

"Thank you, my prince," you said. Your voice was small, and you hesitated to ask your next question, but if you were planning on leaving the room tonight, it would need to be done. "Sir…if you wouldn't mind, would you please…fasten the rest of my buttons, sir?"

He smirked at you. "I thought you didn't need help dressing, my lady."

"I was perhaps a bit hasty," you confessed, and tried to ignore your burning cheeks. "I did not know how to call for a servant, my lord."

He said nothing, just kept raking his eyes along your body, and for a very long minute, you thought that he would make you go to dinner as you were, perhaps to teach you a lesson. But then he made his way behind you and you felt his hands skim lightly along your shoulders and back on their way to the buttons. "I do not mind serving you in this manner tonight, my lady. The view is most agreeable." He made quick work of the dress, and then pressed his mouth to the base of your neck, just under the hairline revealed by your updo. This time you could not hide the shiver.

"Loki…" You weren't sure what you wanted to say, but his name fell from your lips anyway. His hands settled on your waist and squeezed. The air around you felt heavy. Expectant. If you turned around, things would change, and you were not entirely certain that you desired that. So you stayed frozen, and slowly his touch slipped away. He was in front of you again, and offered his arm. All it took was one dazzling smile from the prince, and the heaviness cleared. You managed your own weak smile.

"My lady, our table awaits."

The hall was nothing like you had expected. In your mind, the royal family sat at their own small, exclusive table, dining together and taking respite in their own company away from others. It was foolish. Instead, rows of tables filled the room, and many people—mostly drunk people—filled the tables. The cheerful din relaxed you as Loki led you to a table placed ever-so-slightly above the rest—the exclusive table, at least, had been accurate. The king and queen sat at either end, presiding over the rest of the occupants as you would have expected. Prince Thor was deep in conversation with a beautiful woman with dark hair and sharp features. He turned to you as the two of you arrived and beamed warmly at you. He was his brother's exact opposite: large and expressive and so warm. He rose from his seat and clasped both of your hands in his.

"My lady! It is a pleasure to meet you. We were beginning to fear that my brother would decide to keep you hidden away from the rest of us, locked up only for himself!" He grinned, as though to show you that his words were not quite as serious as you thought.

You struggled to find an appropriate response to the prince, but it was difficult. Everyone knew that this man was slated to be the next king, and while you had had time to adjust to standing in Loki's presence, Thor was still different. A more clever woman, one with more confidence or wit, might have made a quip about how you had feared the same thing, but it was risky. Your tone, after all, could fall flat so easily—you would risk insulting the entire royal family.

"The pleasure is mine, Lord Prince. I cannot begin to express my gratitude for the invitation to join you all here this evening."

There, perhaps that would do. Indeed, Thor's face lit up with yet another grin and he nodded, and then excused himself to resume talking to the lady beside him. Loki leaned over, and his breath brushed against your ear as he whispered a singsongy: "Liar." You looked at him with surprise, and he elaborated. "I do not even have to look at you to feel the nerves coursing through you. You would rather be anywhere but here."

You couldn't stop your smile as you turned your head to whisper back: "That does not mean I am not thankful for the invitation, my lord."

"Fair enough." His hand slipped beneath the table to rest upon your knee. His fingers stroked your skin through the silk of your gown, but made no attempt at impropriety. "Relax, my pet. You will be welcome here for as long as I am. Perhaps even longer." A strange note entered his voice on the last few words, but before you could question him, he turned from you to speak to the men sitting beside him. A servant placed dish before you, one full of food that somehow looked and smelled even more wonderful than that which had been brought to your room. After glancing around the room to make sure that the rest of the guests had also received their food and were eating (lest you make some kind of faux pas), you sampled each morsel.

Thankfully, the ladies around you swept you up into their conversation. They all seemed ardently interested in your time spent with Loki, and if it hadn't been for the scene in the garden, you might have found yourself wondering if they were his other women. You were grateful for them, perhaps even more than they could possibly know, because as the night wore on you found yourself becoming more and more comfortable in that room, at that table. Loki did not let go of your hand, but you did not need to cling to him like a frightened child. You could, in fact, hold your own in conversation with high-born ladies: and they even seemed to be accepting you there.

The noise in the room seemed to swell as the men at the tables around you became drunker and drunker, but even that felt more like home than anything else. After dealing with your father, it was a comfort to know that you could likely guide any of those men into their beds and out of their boots without much fuss at all.

A startled shriek, followed by the crash and clatter of dishes against the stone floor, drew your attention to one of those tables. One of the servants—you recognized her as the girl who had joined you in the library—was struggling with a man who appeared to be a soldier. His fingers were locked tightly, painfully, around her arm as he tried to pull her into his lap. The men around him were chuckling and, as you looked on in horror, many other men began to join in as the spectacle attracted their attention. Even with the considerable distance separating you from her, you could hear her pleading with him to release her, and before you realized what you were doing, you had risen quickly to your feet.

Loki joined you immediately, and Prince Thor followed suit not long after. Soon, all of the men at the royal table were standing beside you as you glared balefully at the man terrorizing the servant. Someone nudged him, and he finally looked up. Apparently the full force of the attention of the royal family was enough to douse whatever urges were burning inside him, because, with a disgruntled sneer that seemed directed right at you, he released the servant girl's arm. She cast a grateful look towards you before stooping to gather up the dishes and the mess at her feet, and then hurried away again. The men at your table returned to their seats almost immediately, and conversations resumed around you, but you remained standing until the man finally looked away from you. Of course, it was only then that you realized just how out of line you had been—interrupting dinner with the royal family because someone was mistreating a woman? She was a servant in a room full of rowdy men, and you had seen mothers, daughters, sisters mistreated by relatives in your own town, so what made this palace any different? Your stomach twisted as you realized that she was probably used to treatment like that, and you pushed you plate aside. The rest of the people at your table were acting as though nothing was wrong: the ladies were chatting and giggling, and the two princes beside you were strategizing as though there hadn't even been an interruption. It was very likely that they had stood merely because someone at their table had stood, and etiquette demanded it. Would anyone else have done anything about that girl's struggle? What would have happened to her?

You looked around the table, and your eyes landed on the queen. She was studying you carefully, maybe even thoughtfully. You could feel your face go pale—had you offended her? Quickly your mind began attempting to conjure up some way to explain yourself to the woman, but before you could get very far, her lips curved into a smile of approval and she inclined her head slightly at you.

The night went on, and gradually returned to almost-normal, except for the vague and uncomfortable sensation that you were being watched. It wasn't until many of the men started to clear out of the room that you realized who was doing the watching. It was that man who had grabbed the girl. He was now sitting alone at his end of the table, glowering at you from over a pint. His cheeks were ruddy, and a shock of blond hair stuck straight out from the top of his head. Despite the roundness of his face and body, he had the sharp, mean look of a small man—of a man who had spent most of his life trying to gain the acceptance of the stronger boys. Even worse, he would not take his eyes off of you.

When the ladies decided to retire to their own quarters, freeing many of the seats around you, the small man approached the king, and then slid into a seat beside you. He must have been asking permission to sit at the table, you realized, and glanced at him for the briefest of moments before turning your attentions to the princes' conversation.

Soon there came a hand on your knee, fingers grasping too tightly and stroking too far up your leg for your comfort. You jumped and tried ineffectually to swat the hand away. Loki had yet to notice, and maybe that was a good thing. You didn't want to make a scene tonight of all nights. So you ignored him, straightening your back a few notches more than usual and trying to visualize the battlefields that Prince Thor was describing to his men—and lady.

Until the snuffling. You didn't realize what was happening at first. You just felt a small puff of air against your shoulder, and then a strange heat, and only then did you realize that the man was leaning into you and—sniffing you. You jumped to your feet for the second time that night, this time with enough force to knock your chair down behind you, and, before you could explain yourself to anyone or even look at that man sitting next to you, you fled.

It was only in the relative safety of one of the corridors that you stopped, heart pounding and face burning with shame. You could not make yourself think about what Loki would have to say—he would be angry about your behavior, undoubtedly, which would probably entail more threats and manhandling, but that wasn't exactly new to you, and it would be worth it to escape that other man's mere presence. Your skin was crawling.

There were footsteps behind you, a long and angry stride. Loki, then. You should turn around and face him, you knew, but hesitated long enough to draw in a deep breath. It was too long: when you finally did turn around, he was already swooping down on you. But this man did not have the long, elegant form of your prince: he was thicker, sturdier. Plump fingers tightened around your upper arms, and he threw you against the wall. Your breath rushed from your lungs and you had to fight to regain it, but recognizing your attacker didn't take much effort: it was the same man from the table.

"You stupid whore," he spat. "Why don't you mind your own business?" He lifted you away from the wall just enough to slam you back again. "I know what your place is here, don't you? The prince brought you here to service his men, and that means me. So get on your knees."

You just stared at him as he puffed and sputtered at you. That is, until he wound up and smashed you across your right cheek. The pain exploded behind your eyes, and he took the opportunity to force you to your knees. His crotch was pressed to your face now, even fouler than his breath, and you could feel his…arousal pressing solidly against you. "That's what you're for, stupid. Now take it out and serve me before you make me angry."

Your stomach was clenching and turning, but the rest of you felt numb. There was no one else in the corridor, which meant no one was around to stop this, but at least it also meant that no one else would see it. Gradually, you realized that your cheeks were wet, which then made you aware that your body was wracked with sobs and shivers. You couldn't move your arms to obey even if you wanted to. Your eyes had long since been clenched shut.

One second the man was standing there with his fingers dug painfully into the top of your head, but the next second, he was smashing against the wall on the other side of the corridor. Cool hands slid under your arms and pulled you to your feet once more, and it was only when you recognized the touch that you could bring yourself to open your eyes. You struggled to come up with an apology or even some kind of explanation for your behavior, but Loki's eyes held little anger as he studied your face.

"What did he do?" He demanded in that low voice that you recognized as dangerous. "Did he hurt you? Where did he touch you?"

"Just my face..." You didn't need to look away from Loki to check whether the bruises were already forming on your arms: you could feel them. "My prince, I am sorry I—"

"Stop." It was a command, another one not to be disobeyed. "Whatever you are sorry for, my lady, it was _his_ fault. Are you hurt anywhere else? You are trembling."

You shook your head and allowed him to pull you closer. "Just...shaken, sire," you mumbled. A guard, likely summoned by the sound of a body crashing into the marble walls, finally appeared, and Loki hissed orders for the man to be thrown into a cell for the foreseeable future, but you were somewhat distracted by your own attempts to regain control over your muscles. Loki smoothed his hand along your back and began walking the two of you away from that place. You didn't really pay attention to where you were going until you stopped again.

He had not taken you back to your chambers. Instead, he led you to another door, much larger and more ornate than the few that you had already seen. This…this was the door to a room belonging to someone more important than you. This was a prince's door, which meant that behind it was a prince's chambers. And his bed. And… You turned to gape uncertainly at your prince. Did he expect an act of gratitude towards him for saving you from the brute in the corridor?

"Do not look at me like that," he said, and if you didn't know better, you would almost have called his tone _tender_. He reached out to brush a tear from your throbbing cheek. "I expect nothing from you tonight. Come inside."

Where else would you go? You hadn't been paying enough attention to know exactly where in the castle you were, so it wasn't as though you could make your way back to your own quarters, so…you followed Loki into his quarters.

It was dark, as you would have expected, and cool, with a strange but intoxicating earthen scent in the air. Once you were inside, he slammed the door behind you and began pacing. You were busy examining his room (tapestries lined several walls, and you might have suspected they were the Queen's doing if their colors did not match the rest of the room. You caught a few words from the prince—"animal" and "treachery" and "filth"—but you tried not to listen. The room was, as you would have expected, quite full of the color green but accents of a bright sapphire peeked through in places as well. You kept your arms crossed tightly in front of your breasts as you turned your attention to the man stalking the considerable length of the room. He was muttering a single string of words now, and when he came closer you realized what he was saying.

"Mine. You are mine." He fixed his eyes on your face. His nostrils flared, but you didn't know the exact reason why until he placed his hand along your cheek where your pulse beat steadily beneath the skin. It was certainly bruised now, and possibly even swollen—although the coolness of your prince's touch felt wonderful on the heat emanating from your skin, the pressure was still painful. "He hurt what is mine." There was a fierceness in his voice but you did not fear it. Instead, you pressed your hand gingerly against his and attempted a smile.

"But you stopped him," you reminded him. If he hadn't nodded, you might have suspected that he hadn't heard you—nothing in his face changed, and his muscles remained taut, strained against his clothing.

"I will spread the word that you are not to be touched," he said. "This should be common knowledge, but I suppose I cannot always expect such intelligence from my father's soldiers. I will not share you, my lady, make no mistake. Any man who lays his unworthy finger on you will be put to death."

"Sire, is that not just a little…too far?" Certainly you did not want to run into the man again any time soon, but at the same time, you weren't sure that he deserved to die for his actions. But the prince shook his head. With a sigh, you slipped your arms around his waist and embraced him, shyness overrun by the emotions that filled the room. After a moment or two, his arms found their way around your shoulders and he held you tightly. Your shivers dissipated as you stood there together, leaning on each other. Before long, his hands moved once again, this time to work the buttons down your back. He was removing your dress, or at least unbuttoning it. Still, surrounded as you were by his arms, you could not exactly pull away to stop him.

"My lady. He attacked you, a royal guest, in your own home. He hit you, and was going to do much worse besides, and still you care about his life?" His expression was unreadable. It was all you could do to keep yourself from smiling wryly at his rage and confusion. Had he himself not done similar things, and worse, to you during your stay here? Had he forgotten, or were his own actions excused? He was a prince, after all. "You smile again. Why are you smiling?"

Was it better to lie, or to remain silent?

"It is nothing, my lord, I just…sire, you are not completely innocent of those things yourself." You could have stopped there, but certainly the damage had already been done. "The first time you visited me you threatened me with much worse than that man in the hallway, and the next night in the garden, you did very nearly the same thing that he did tonight." The silence stretched between you, and you could almost feel the anger bubbling up in the prince. You had mere moments to explain yourself, or to try to salvage the situation. Your stupid, big, stupid mouth. The next words spilled from your mouth in a hasty stream. "Of course, I understand that your birth and my position make things…different in your situation, but do you not at least see the similarities?" You kept your eyes averted and your head ducked low. The more meek and submissive you could make your body language, perhaps the less of an effect that your words would have on his temper.

But still he did not speak. He felt dangerous again. Was there nothing you could say?

"Sire, please do not misunderstand me. That man's intentions were cruel, while yours—"

"Enough."

His voice cut you off, and though the temptation to steal a glance at his face was great, you resisted. "My father's soldiers would rip you apart, given half the chance. There are whispers coming from their quarters that would make you quake with fear. They are selfish, bloodthirsty men who would like nothing more than to catch a lady like you outside of the village one summer afternoon and spend the rest of the day making her wish she'd never been born. It is only my own selfish nature currently keeping you safe."

It was probably true. You remained silent, however, your instinct of self-preservation finally kicking in. He placed his hand upon your cheek again, seemingly mindful of the pressure of his touch. One of the shoulders of your dress had slipped down, and his other hand was tugging on it before you could replace it. With one quick, angry yank, the beautiful material ripped and pooled around your ankles, leaving you standing bare before your prince. You had, after all, received no other garments besides the gown.

"I am aware that I am a monster, my lady. You need not remind me of that." His voice was icy as he walked a tight circle around your body. You crossed your arms in front of yourself protectively, but you could only cover so much, and his fingers raked along the swell of one of your buttocks, making you jump. "But it would serve you well to remember that there are far more terrible monsters out there waiting for you."

In reality, you should have been thanking the prince for his kindness and apologizing for your insolence. Maybe another kind of woman might even have used her body to distract the prince and apologize without words. But all that fell from your mouth as you stood there trying not to shiver was a pathetic "I do not think you are a monster."

Loki snorted bitterly and without humor. "More lies? You've said it yourself. I've kidnapped you and abused you and plan to break you in order to turn you into my whore. If I am not a monster, my lady, then what am I?"

"A prince." You lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "How many have dared to tell you no, and lived to tell the tale?" He did not speak, but the smirk that crept across his face was all the answer you really needed. "And yet here we are. I am standing not three steps from your bed, wearing hardly a scrap of clothing. I could not stop you if you decided to force yourself upon me here and now. But you have promised me patience, and you are upholding that promise, and quite frankly, my lord, the rules are different for you. It is not that you are a monster, but that you are different. I merely wished to remind you, sire, that it is only by a quirk of time and nature that you are not the soldier in the cell, or he you."

"And is that truly the only way in which we are different?" His eyes bored into yours, holding tightly to your gaze despite your great urge to look anywhere but his face. Traces of amusement were creeping back into his expression. He crossed his arms as though to mimic you. There was at least one major difference, of course.

"No," you mumbled.

"Well?" He would not allow you to look away, but you could not stop yourself from squirming uncomfortably.

"That man's advances were frightening, my lord, and…wholly unwelcome."

The lack of surprise in Loki's face did not surprise you much, either. The entire point of his plan had been to charm and seduce you into his bed, after all. What was slightly more surprising was the lack of smugness in his smile. Cocky, arrogant Loki, for once, was not smirking at you. "Whereas my advances are frightening and only a bit unwelcome."

You had no answer for him, because ultimately you had no answer for yourself.

Still grinning, Loki pulled his tunic up over his head to reveal the pale expanse of his chest. His skin was no less striking in the torchlight of his chambers than it had been in the sunlight, and you stood transfixed until he held the material out to you. A peace offering? You pulled it on quickly to cover your body, and once you did, the prince took you in his arms once more. "My lady is never dull," he murmured into the top of your head. "It is a rare few who are willing to speak to me the way you do."

His arms tightened in anticipation, as though he knew you would pull back and attempt to explain yourself. "It is a good thing, pet, a very good thing. I have no interest in the weak and compliant. They are good to rule, but beyond that?" You felt him wave dismissively, and he released you to look at you carefully. His gaze was appreciative, but also...hungry. It was hard to keep from remembering the events of the afternoon, the sun and the heat and the way your body had felt under the prince's touch. You did not—would not—let your mind wander to the thought of his erection standing before you in the glittering light, or the way it might feel, cool and solid, pressing deep inside of you the way his fingers had. His mouth curled into a grin, as though he knew what you were thinking.

Just as you began to move away from him, hoping that the distance might clear your head, he scooped you into his arms and twirled the two of you into his bed. A startled noise escaped your mouth before you could stop yourself, but he held you carefully in the cage of his arms, and you were not hurt. "The things I long to do to you, my lady," he said. His voice was thick. "Our outing today was but a tiny example of the ways in which I can please you." He shifted so that he was stretched out above you and one knee pressed high between your legs. "I can show you stars and worlds you've never even dreamed of, and all you have to say is one little word." He lowered his head to explore your neck with his mouth, and the soft, persistent tugging on your tender flesh was enough to evoke a quiet moan. But it seemed every part of your body was beginning to ache, from the horse and then from the cruel soldier, and so you pushed against your prince's chest.

"Loki..." The words swirled and churned in your mind, resisting your attempts to shape them into speech. Your prince sighed heavily, though it was amusement, not disappointment, which rested on his brow.

"I understand, my lady. You are exhausted, and I am still your kidnapper." He brushed his thumb gently under your eyes and then pressed it to your lips to hold back your protests.. "Just know that, in this matter, you hold me in the palm of your hand. You may sleep safely. I assure you, nothing untoward will befall you while you do." He returned his lips to your neck for only a moment, and his teeth tugged on your skin just enough to make your eyes slide closed. "No matter how irresistible you look here in my bed."

If this was a ploy, it was...effective, you mused as you felt him shift to cover the two of you with a blanket. And despite the strangeness of the situation and the events of the day, you did find yourself nestling closer to the man whose bed you were sharing. His breath was soft on your shoulder, and if you had been more alert, you may have taken a moment to compare it to the disgusting soldier at dinner, but as it was, you let yourself fall asleep to the sound of the prince's breathing.


	8. Chapter 8

AN: Nope, this story's not dead! I'm so grateful for all the views and reviews and other kind words that you have all been leaving me, and even if I didn't love writing the world of this story, that would make me want to keep going. This chapter doesn't exactly end the way I wanted it to, but if I didn't stop somewhere, I would keep writing on and on and on and before I knew it, all you beautiful readers would have lost interest and the chapter would end up being fifty pages long. Ack!

The end is in sight-kind of. When I started writing this, I didn't know what I was going to do with it, but now I kind of know how I might want it to end. Just gotta figure out how to get there without getting Loki too out of character.

Finally, before I let you all start reading, I really want to thank Adrienne and Absinthe for your phenomenal (though unsigned) reviews. It seems like, in general, all of you readers and reviewers are the sweetest and kindest and best-spoken people, and it should go without saying that I treasure every moment that you take out of your lives to leave a few words on my work, but those two in particular just...made my day. Thank you all!

As always, if you catch any ridiculous typos or have anything that you'd like to see in this story, let me know right away so I can either fix them or see what I can do about including them.

* * *

You were not at home.

No, of course not, you were in the palace. That was your home now.

But you also weren't in your room in the palace. The bed felt different and smelled different. It was strange but also somehow...familiar. And you were wrapped around someone, legs tangled and arms thrown around their body, with your head on their shoulder. It was only then that you remembered what had happened and where you were—and you had to tell yourself not to jerk away from your bedmate, lest you wake him.

The room was dark, as though someone had extinguished the torches, and only a faint silvery light shone in through the window. It was still late, or perhaps very early in the morning, but you carefully extracted yourself from the prince and crept out of bed, over to the window. You must have been on the opposite side of the palace from the room you normally stayed in, because the view was unfamiliar. The moon bathed an empty courtyard with its faint light, and you were struck by the (likely misguided) thought that you were the only one awake to see the sight. There were probably people awake all over the palace: servants and others who had work to do at this hour of the day.

As they so frequently did, your thoughts turned to others in your life. Your father, who would probably have drunken himself into a stupor by now. You wondered how much money he had received. If it had been enough to recover the cost of his last gift to you. You wondered about Sigg and her family—why had someone so young sought the kind of life promised by the ball? Maybe her family had needed the money as yours had, and when the carriages had delivered her back to her home, she had faced a threat like your own father. It hurt you to think of anyone raising their hand against her, but of course it was not a rarity in towns like yours. And the servant girl from the library and the dining hall, would she be safe? Maybe it was silly to hope that your foolish display at dinner would send the message to everyone else present that she was off-limits, as it were, but you refused to quash that tiny swell of hope in your chest. At the very least, you hoped that you had not caused any problems for her.

You leaned your cheek against the stone wall, but had to stand up straight again when your head began to throb. Right. You were hurt. You raised your fingertips to press gingerly against your swollen cheekbone, and were unable to hold back a pained hiss. Dammit.

"Pet?" Loki's voice did not sound marred by sleep in the slightest: with a smile you imagined that he would never allow his silver tongue to go hoarse. The alternative was that he had not been sleeping at all. Despite the coolness of the stone, you felt yourself grow hot: had he been awake at whatever point in the night that you had draped yourself around him? What had he thought? "What are you doing? Come to bed."

Your apology stuck in your throat, but you obeyed, and he folded you back into his arms. You fell asleep quickly, and did not dream.

The next time you opened your eyes, you were alone in the room—or in the bed, anyway. When you sat up, you realized that there was indeed someone standing in the doorway, watching you. It took a moment, but you did eventually recognize her as the small servant who frequently shared your breakfast. When she saw that you were awake, she took a small step toward you, but hesitated again.

"Good morning," you greeted her. She managed a smile.

"Are you hungry, my lady? The prince told us we could find you in his room today." Her eyes widened as they finally fell on your face. The bruise must have worsened overnight. "Miss, what happened?"

"It's nothing," you answered, and swung your legs over the edge of the bed. A tray of food was waiting for you near the foot of the bed. "Would you like some breakfast too?"

The girl hesitated for a moment, and then shook her head slightly. "This...this is the prince's quarters," she said in a hushed voice. "What if he finds out?"

You couldn't help but smile at her, and held out a warm roll of bread. "Who's going to find out? I won't tell him."

Finally, and with the speed of a small creature who feared some sort of predator swooping in and attacking, the girl took the roll from you and nibbled on one edge. Maybe it was the warmth of the bread, or the taste, or just the realization that no one else was in the room, but she smiled at you and seemed to relax then, though she didn't join you on the bed as she might have in your own room. As you ate, she revealed that Loki had had some additional business to attend to outside of the palace walls, and that you were to be escorted to the library, if you wished, or to your room or even the stables. You had to laugh at the thought of riding another horse, this time alone, all while still aching from the day before. The library, you decided, would be fine.

"I thought as much," the girl said with a smile. "I will send Rowan to you when I get back to the kitchen." She tucked the roll into the folds of her dress before catching your confused look. "She's the one who joined you in the library last time. The prince has asked that she join you again, if you desire it."

The girl from the library. She would also be the girl from dinner last night. You nodded and sipped your tea as the girl finished what was left on the tray. It wasn't until she had almost left the room that you realized, after all this time, that you had yet to learn her name.

"What is your name?" You asked. She paused in the doorway, looking confused, but then lowered herself into as deep a curtsey as she could manage, carrying the tray.

"They call me Sindri, my lady," she answered with a shy smile. "Them that bother, anyway. I don't mind 'child' or 'girl', or even 'you there'." She lowered her voice in an approximation of the men of the palace, and you couldn't help but laugh. "Thank you for your kindness, miss. I will send Rowan to you now." She left, and you cast about for a moment or two, trying to figure out what you were supposed to wear. You couldn't venture out into the rest of the castle wearing only the prince's tunic, but your gown from last night was in no condition to be worn, either. But then you spotted it, laid out across a large chair on the other side of the room: a simple gown cut from silvery-grey silk. It was certainly a change from the elaborate emerald numbers that you had been wearing, but it was much closer to your preferred style. In any case, you slipped it on and smoothed it down against your skin, at which point a hesitant knocking sounded against the prince's door. The girl from the library—Rowan, you told yourself—peeked inside.

You hurried to greet her at the door, unwilling to keep her waiting, but when she saw your face, her eyes filled with woe and she covered her mouth with both hands. You made a mental note to look at yourself in the next looking glass you saw—you must look horrible. "My lady," she cried, reaching one hand toward you before apparently remembering herself and pulling it back again. "What happened? I hope the prince did not punish you for standing on my behalf!"

"No," you assured her, and reached out to take her hand. "No, please don't worry. It was the man who was hurting you, but the prince had him imprisoned, so neither of us has to worry about him today." You paused just long enough to catch her eyes. She looked wary, but then managed a weak smile. "Will you come with me today?"

"Yes, my lady." She pulled her hand away and lead you across the palace to the library. It was a much longer walk from the prince's quarters than from your own, but you recognized the corridor when you came to it, and stopped in front of the correct set of doors. As before, a fire was blazing in the fireplace, and the light from the flames danced over the shelves. You found yourself pondering the horrors that could result from an errant spark or coal as you meandered down the aisles of books, but dismissed the idea. It seemed impossible somehow, as though the books could be protected from the flames by magic.

You pulled a book from the shelf and looked over at the girl, suddenly shy again. Would she want to spend another day working through an unfamiliar book? In any case, the title you had pulled was easy enough to work if she did, but could also hold your interest if she decided she would rather just sit before the fire.

"Would you...do you want to read some more?" You asked, and held the book aloft so she could see the cover. She nodded, looking almost as shy as you felt, and joined you at the table from before. She spoke quietly as you opened the cover of the book.

"Miss, please forgive me if I offend you, but why are you so kind to me? To everyone else I am invisible. We are all invisible, and that is how it should be."

For a long time, you had no answer for her. It didn't seem quite right that so many people in the palace were ignored because of their station. But then again, perhaps that was because of your own humble upbringing. You spent most of your life with women just like Rowan, and not like the beautiful lady from dinner last night.

"We are the same," you finally managed. "I am not royalty. I grew up in the dirt and the streets of a poor village. Were it not for a chance moment at the ball, I would still be there, invisible like you except to men who aimed to marry or mistreat me."

Rowan was silent for a long time, and when you ventured a glance at her face, she looked as though she were trying to summon the courage to speak. She met your eyes and smiled almost sheepishly, but then shrugged. The subject seemed all but dismissed, but then she spoke one last time. "We have all heard of your kindness, especially to the young one who brings you food." Her eyes sparkled, and it was only then that you realized that Sindri had also been sharing your food with others around her. Good. You felt yourself grin. "You are very well-liked in the servants' quarters, my lady, if that makes you any happier here in the palace."

Surprisingly enough, it did. Your smile widened, and a similar one made its way across Rowan's face too. It was a relief to know that when the prince lost interest in you and you were relegated to servitude you might find yourself with a friend or two in the quarters. You moved your chair closer to the girl and the two of you pored over the book in front of you. By the end, she was reading whole pages aloud without stumbling over a single word. Forgetting yourself for a moment, you threw your arms around her with pride.

"You've been practicing," you exclaimed. "That was wonderful."

"Thank you, my lady." She seemed a little uncomfortable, but began smiling. "It has been difficult, but some of the older servants have been helping me when we have a spare moment here and there."

Before she could say anything else, you both became aware of a presence in the doorway. His body language was weary as he leaned against the wall, slouched over and practically curling in on himself, though he retained just enough nobility to make it absolutely clear who he was. Rowan leapt to her feet and nervously excused herself, curtseying deeply in front of the prince before slipping past him into the corridors outside. You were slightly more composed—you simply rose and watched him stalk to a chair by the fire.

He had yet to speak. It was difficult to tear your eyes away from his face, and your mind raced through the various situations which surely awaited you—being scolded or ridiculed for socializing with the servants, being banished from the library, being banished from the castle—but the silence was broken only by the fire crackling away, oblivious to either of you. So, fine. If he saw no reason to speak, then neither did you. You re-shelved the book you had been reading and chose another before sitting in the plush seat across from the prince. Slowly—oh, so slowly—you found yourself relaxing, and decided that his presence was rather more peaceful than it had been when he'd first walked in.

"If only you could have seen yourself last night," he finally said. At first, you were not even certain that he had actually spoken, but when you looked up from the pages, his eyes were fixed on you. Your stomach tightened pleasantly at the way he was looking at you. It wasn't dangerous or predatory, for once. It wasn't calculating, or even thoughtful. The prince—a man who had taken you from your home and who commanded entire forces of men and lived in the very same palace that had towered over your faraway village for as long as you could remember—seemed to be looking at you merely to look at you. You tried to hold his gaze as he continued. "Clothed in nothing but my tunic and the silvery moonlight. Your hair was...it was a mess, but when the light caught it, it was perfect."

His words, mixed with the quiet unguarded expression on his face, made you blush and shift in your seat. You opened your mouth to protest, but he was already speaking again.

"I did not know it was possible to feel such jealousy towards a beam of light until I saw how freely it touched your skin there by the window. That is why I had them send a silver gown for you." He lifted his shoulders in a shrug that seemed defeated. "I did not know I would be called away again. I had wished to see you in it all day so that I could remember how you looked last night. But alas, my lady, here we are now, and I cannot tell whether your cheeks are so flushed from the firelight or from my words." His smile was more like an easy grin, a slow curl of his lips now that he had finished speaking.

"I think both, sire," you heard yourself mumble. "I've never heard you speak this way before."

"You make me do strange things," he replied, and leaned forward in his chair. "Come to the garden with me."

It was not, all things considered, a strange request, so although you looked at him with confusion for a moment before closing your book, you did not deny him. Instead, you placed the book back on the shelf and moved back to his seat to offer him your hand. He merely looked at it for a moment, studying it as though it were somehow more than just a hand. Slowly he raised his arm to trail his fingertips down the smooth skin of your arm. Goosebumps followed closely behind his soft touch even as he took your hand and pulled your wrist against his lips. The goosebumps spread through your body and, when the prince raised his eyes to meet yours, elicited a strange shiver of pleasure.

"My prince..." It was difficult to find words. Hell, it was difficult to remain standing. Why did this man have such an effect on you?

"My lady." His eyes were very dark despite the dancing firelight that reflected within them. Finally he rose and tucked your hand into the crook of his elbow. "I shall lead us there."

You recognized much of the path you took from the grand library to the even grander garden, which pleased you in a secret way. You were becoming more and more familiar with the palace, and thus would depend less and less on the kindness and patience of others. When you wound up in the garden, you recognized the bright white flowers shining in the lights that twinkled above you, though it was an unfamiliar part of the garden itself. The clean scent of the life growing around you filled your nose and you allowed your eyes to slip closed with pleasure. Loki took advantage of the moment and pressed one hand against your eyes.

"Keep them closed until I say," he whispered against your cheek. His breath was warm, and tickled as it caught in your hair. You could not help but shiver once more. He led you somewhere, but your only clue was the feel of the ground beneath your feet as it grew softer, and then suddenly hard. A staircase? Some sort of wooden platform? You hadn't been walking very far, so you knew you were still in the garden, but you could not imagine where he was taking you. "Now, my lady," came his words—from behind. He allowed his hands to settle on your hips, pulling you flush against his body.

When you opened your eyes, you were grateful for his actions—without someone there to steady you, you may have lost your balance and fallen over the edge into what appeared to be either a very deep pond or a very small lake. Without meaning to, you lowered your hands to grasp at the prince's as you looked out across the water. The surface was still, disturbed only by the wind and the occasional ripple from some inhabitant breaking the surface. Near your feet, it appeared as though soft lights were glowing in the water, but they moved like fish or some other water creature.

"I do not know how to swim," you said. It seemed as though you should be speaking, and that was the best your mind could come up with in the face of such beauty. Loki laughed against your shoulder.

"I have no intentions of throwing you in," he assured you. "Would you like to sit?"

"My dress...it might get wet." And, though the temptation was great to allow your bare feet to dangle into the water, it would absolutely be improper to remove your slippers or stockings in the presence of your prince. Wouldn't it?

Loki stepped away and sat on the edge of the platform, then tugged lightly on your ankle. "There are hundreds more where that one came from, pet, and hundreds of servants well-educated on rescuing damp clothing. Sit with me." One hand crept beneath your skirt, up the length of your leg, and you jumped until you realized he was merely hooking one finger through the top of one of your stockings. He guided it off slowly, never breaking eye contact with you even when he tossed it, along with your slipper, into the soft earth not too far from where he sat. He repeated the process with the other stocking, which of course left you with no choice but to gather your skirts up above your knees and find a place to sit.

The water was cool against your skin, refreshing, and the ripples that made their way out from around your ankle gave you something to look at besides the prince. Why was he being so kind this evening? Part of you was counting the minutes until he snapped again, but mostly you found yourself...enjoying it.

"You are weary, my lord. Was your trip today very tiring?"

His lips held only the smallest trace of a smile as he studied your face. "Perceptive pet. No, my lady. My brother and I merely...exchanged harsh words on our return trip, that is all. He does not understand things as clearly as you."

You kicked your feet gently in the water to distract yourself from the words. Of course the prince understood things much more clearly than you ever could. You were nobody. You sighed. "I suppose brothers are difficult no matter where you grow up."

"Tell me about yours."

The words made you look up again. "Sire, I have told you all there is to tell about him. He is very strong but very stupid. He would make a good soldier or miller's assistant, but he lacks...warmth. And personality." A different person might have felt ashamed to speak so harshly of her own family, but yours had never given you reason to care. "We never got along."

"Was there no one of value in your life, pet? No giggling best school friend or blushing lover?"

You hoped the lights that surrounded the two of you were dim enough to hide the blush that colored your cheeks. "There was my mother. And then there were books, those that I managed to borrow from people in the village." You watched as one of the light-fish investigated your toes.

"Then why did you resist so strongly the idea of living here with me? If you have no one at home, what difference would it have made?" He wanted you to look at him. His eyes were probing, insistent, but you would not look away from the creature in the water. How could he not see?

"Because it was not my own idea, my lord prince. I was thrown into a carriage without my consent, and then paraded through a ballroom without my consent, and then locked into a room without my consent, all so that I could become a part of some strange man's harem where he would use me in whichever ways he wanted, without my consent until he tired of me, at which point I would be relegated to the servants' quarters or else killed." He was beginning to speak again. "And yes, sire, I know now that there is no harem, and you have promised me patience, but I did not know these things and even if I had, my lord, it was all, quite frankly, terrifying." You reached across the platform to take his hand, but found no more words within yourself.

Finally the prince found some of his own. "You have become very dear to me, pet, and to many others in the palace besides. Know that you will never find yourself serving my family or any other in the land. And as for killing you?" He chuckled to himself and lifted your knuckles to his lips. "My mother would have my head if I even dared to suggest such a thing."

His mother? The queen. A strange feeling flooded through you. Did that mean she liked you, or would there be other ramifications—perhaps political—to your death? It would have to be the latter: you hadn't had nearly enough time with the queen to show her anything beyond the obvious: your humble, humble roots and just how out of place you were in the palace.

Your confusion must have been showing on your face, because after a moment or two, Loki reached over and cupped one cheek in his hand. "Will my lady kiss me now?"

Unlike the first time he had uttered those words, your heart did not start racing with fear. After all that had transpired between the two of you, and the lengths he had gone to in order to assure you of your safety, you would have felt foolish to be so frightened. So you withdrew your feet from the water and pulled them up under your body as you shifted to a kneeling position. He watched silently (and with an air of amusement) as you maneuvered your skirts to keep them away from the surface of the water before leaning forward to press your lips against his.

He did not move for several long moments, did not slide a hand around the back of your neck or the side of your face. He did, of course, return the kiss, and he was the one to part his lips and slide his tongue along yours to prompt you to do the same. It was only when you granted him access to your mouth that he slid his hand along your back, pressing firmly but gently and in a way that spoke of no intentions to release you. After a moment, he leaned forward and guided you down onto the wooden platform, never breaking the kiss or allowing his touch to leave your skin. The water was lapping at the planks below you: the sound registered dimly in your ears.

When the prince pulled back, you realized that his hand was beneath your skirts again, and resting on your inner thigh. The coolness of his touch was enough to remind you of the heat you'd felt just the day before in the middle of nowhere when he touched you, and of the same heat that you felt building inside you tonight.

He did not ask for permission this time, but instead pushed aside the flimsy cloth of your knickers and brushed his thumb against your most sensitive place. The heat seemed to ignite with the touch, and your hips jerked towards him almost of their own accord. A pleasured gasp escaped your lips, and he pressed his free hand against your mouth.

"Not a sound, pet," he whispered. "You don't want to attract anyone else's attention, do you?" You shook your head even as your eyes slipped closed with pleasure. One finger was teasing your entrance, spreading your arousal while he continued with his lazy circles. "I, of course, would not mind so much if others arrived to witness this. It is not fair to deny them the glory of watching you writhe with pleasure, but I am also very selfish. I do not wish to share you with anyone."

On this final word, he slipped two fingers inside you and pumped slowly. It was dizzying. A muffled whimper made its way past the prince's hand, prompting you to clutch at his wrist to keep it more firmly in place. You could not open your eyes to see whether he was smirking at you, but you also didn't really care. He increased the speed of his thumb, and there was a slight, almost painful pressure as he added a third finger, but even that gave way to more pleasure. Soon your hips were bucking against his hand, trying to draw him deeper or make him move faster. Your mind was a swirling haze with only one truly clear thought: more. You needed more. Your fingernails were digging into the pale skin pressed against your mouth, and one more whimper escaped before your prince acquiesced and allowed you to slip over the edge of orgasm. He did not stop his ministrations even as you rode out the final waves of pleasure, but when your body finally began to return to normal, he did remove his hand from your mouth.

You opened your eyes blearily, and you were grateful for the darkness now not because it hid your flushed cheeks but because it did not burn your eyes. Loki was watching you with a very satisfied look on his face. When he saw that you were looking at him, he finally allowed his hand to slip out from under your skirts. His fingers were coated with your wetness, and glistened in the few lights that surrounded you. Once again without breaking eye contact, he slipped each finger into his mouth to taste it, to clean it. You could not look away.

"I do not think I will ever grow tired of you. Or that." His voice was thick. You did not speak, just pulled that very same hand down to your mouth to allow those very same fingers past your lips. His eyes widened almost imperceptibly as you ran your tongue over each fingertip, between them and around them. There was no trace of yourself left on his skin, just the taste of his mouth. When you were finished, he pressed his fingers just slightly deeper into your mouth before pulling them away, and kissed your forehead. "The things I plan to do to you..." he mumbled. "I could have you here and now. I do not think I could even last the trip back to a bed."

Could you? Would you? Should your first time with a man be outside, in a garden in the middle of the night? Were you even ready to give him permission for that?

He sensed your struggle, but perhaps misinterpreted it. "Would it be easier if I took it from you by force? If I turned myself into the monster you already know?" Now you became aware of his arousal, hard and insistent against your leg. But these did not sound like threats, not really. If he really meant them, after all, he would not have bothered to ask. A sense of peace was beginning to grow within you. It seemed he would truly wait.

And so you reached between the two of you to squeeze him through his trousers. "May I, sire?"

He smirked. "Absolutely, pet." With that, he rolled away from you slightly and onto his back. You fumbled with his belt for a few moments before he lost patience and knocked your hands away so that he could push everything unceremoniously down past his hips. Impatient. You would have smiled, maybe even laughed, but the sight of him, erect and glowing in the moonlight, startled you silent. He crossed his arms under his head and though his eyes were closed, you got the feeling that he was watching you somehow.

"Feeling shy?" If the sight of his cock was enough to silence you, the tone of his voice was enough to spur you to action. You did not reply, only reached out to wrap your fingers around him. The masculine growl of pleasure told you that you were doing fine, but the way he had reacted when you put his fingers in your mouth gave you another idea. Your rhythm faltered, and then your touch slipped away as you repositioned yourself next to him on the platform. He was certainly looking at you now, through heavily-lidded eyes.

You summoned all your courage and lowered your head to flick the tip of your tongue across the tip of his cock. His reaction was immediate: one hand came down to grasp the back of your neck, and a stream of mumbled oaths issued forth from his mouth. You would have pulled back to see what the matter was except, of course, for the hand on the back of your neck. "Just like that," he said. "Don't stop, that's good."

So you pressed forward, taking him slowly into your mouth inch by inch. He was groaning louder now, and you were afraid that he would be the one to attract attention to the two of you, but hardly thought it your place to ask him to be quiet. You closed your eyes instead. Who would dare disrupt the prince during a moment like this in his own garden? Surely even his mother would rather pretend not to have seen anything?

With your sight darkened and your sense of panic ignored, you were able to focus more fully on the way he felt, the way he tasted, the way he smelled. The prince was filling your senses as you swirled your tongue around him, and it was not unpleasant. You kept one hand wrapped around his base, massaging it as your mouth found a rhythm around him. In return, his hand tightened around the back of your neck, and he was saying something that might have been quiet encouragements, but it was hard to understand him. You redoubled your efforts just in case.

Then it was his turn to buck his hips against you and he was spurting into your mouth. You choked and tried to pull away, but he was still holding onto you, and pumping hard between your lips. It was all you could do to keep breathing normally and not choke, so you froze and allowed him to finish. When he finally lifted your mouth off of him, you hesitated before turning your head to let his seed drip to the ground, but he stopped you with a finger against your chin.

"Swallow." His voice was low. There would be no refusal. You hesitated for only another moment before swallowing the bitter fluid. It was still less than pleasant, but then again, not entirely revolting. Loki stroked your cheek before his arm flopped back down to the platform. "Good girl."

For a long time, only the sounds of the garden filled the silence. You rocked back from your knees to sit cross-legged on the platform, and that motion seemed to break the spell that held Loki. He fixed his trousers and turned half onto his side so he could look at you. His eyes were still dark, and something that glinted in their depths made you lower you gaze with a blush. Still he did not speak. A night bird called its song mournfully out across the darkness, and another echoed it back moments later. The water continued to lap at the planks beneath you, and something in the distance broke the surface of the pond. He stretched out on his back, and you joined him to look up at the stars that glinted in the sky.


	9. Chapter 9

By the time the prince spoke again, the air was beginning to chill and seep beneath the fabric of your dress. You had just begun to wonder whether the prince was asleep and, if he was, whether you should wake him to go back into the palace. You couldn't help but wonder what he would be like immediately upon waking. Would he be cross? Disoriented? Affectionate? The thought was laughable—a smiling, yawning Loki with mussed hair rolling over in bed and bidding you good morning—and you did snort quietly in the darkness. A cool hand sought yours, found it, and then raised it to his lips again. You jumped.

"My lady, your skin is nearly as cold as mine." You looked over, and found that Loki had turned his head to study you. When he saw you looking back, the corners of his lips curled up from behind your hand, and he blew a warm breath against your skin. "We'll go back inside. I'll have something warm brought to my room while my lady warms herself before a fire." He sat up, and his grin widened into a smirk. "Perhaps once she's relieved herself of her clothing?"

"Loki..." Your cheeks were hot, which of course was ridiculous. You'd already stood naked in front of him. You'd slept nearly naked with him. The thought of sitting naked in his quarters shouldn't be so mortifying. He heaved a sigh and climbed to his feet, then extended his hand to help you up as well.

"You may wear the dress if you'd like. I just assumed you'd be more comfortable without it." He tucked your hand into the crook of his arm and the two of you walked back into the palace. As you did, you passed the older servant—the one who sneered at you and whom you hadn't seen since the day you rode the horse with Loki—and she managed to catch your eye and smirk at you just before Loki turned to speak to her.

His tone was cold and imperious as he told her to have a tray brought to his room, and the sound made you cringe although the woman seemed nonplussed. You could not bring yourself to look at her again, and so allowed Loki to sweep you down the corridor and into his quarters. The door clicked shut behind him with a strange sort of finality, and you turned to look at him uncertainly. He raked his eyes along your body and then bowed, a bizarre combination of hunger and respect.

"Would my lady care to sit before the fire? I did not mean for you to catch a chill in the garden tonight. You seemed to like it the last time we were there, and I sometimes go there to think." He pursed his lips in a lascivious grin. "I daresay I'll have quite a bit more to think about the next time I go."

"The fire is wonderful, my lord prince," you said hastily, eager to change the subject and, if you were to be very honest, also distance yourself from the man. You sat cross-legged on the soft rug spread out before the fireplace and tried not to allow the dancing flames to hypnotize you into sleep. There was a rustling behind you, and then Loki joined you wearing only his trousers. Your eyes must have widened, or your shoulders tightened, because he chuckled and reached to smooth your hair.

"I wish only to be comfortable, pet. I have no intentions of breaking my promises tonight, however maddening you look in that dress." He continued to trail his fingers through your hair, and your eyes slipped closed at the pleasant feeling. Without looking, you could tell that there were goosebumps lining your arms, but all you could do was sigh softly. The prince must have noticed, because one hand moved to caress your arm. "Are you still chilled? The bed might be a warmer choice than the floor." But his voice was teasing, knowing, so you merely opened your eyes slightly to cast a level look in his direction. He laughed again and tugged on your hair to bring your head down into his lap. The two of you lapsed into silence then—what was there to say as you stared into a fire while the royal prince stroked your hair?!-until finally he spoke up again.

"I nearly forgot, pet: my mother has asked to see you tomorrow. She wishes to speak with you." You would have shot straight up with shock, but Loki anticipated your movement and retained a gentle pressure on your head, keeping you in place. "Do not worry yourself so. My mother is not so frightening."

"To you, maybe," you found yourself mumbling. Loki's hands stilled and you turned your head to look at him. "My lord, you are her child. I am...I am some stray villager that her child has brought into her home and who eats her food and wears her fineries whilst bringing nothing in return. I have no land, sire. I have no money, and I certainly have no nobility to my name. At any moment she would be well within her rights to order me banished, or...or worse." You hesitated for a moment, and then added. "And, Loki...she is the _queen_."

He was shaking his head, and in his eyes there was a hint of that familiar frustration. Part of you wanted to sit up and move away in case, in his anger, he struck out at you, but you didn't dare, lest the motion set him off for certain. Slender fingers gripped your chin almost too tightly as he spoke. "You are no stray. How many times must I repeat myself until you begin to believe me, pet? The only person in this entire palace who thinks such a thing of you is yourself, and I will not tolerate such a lack of respect for my lady. Do you understand?"

You held his gaze and managed a tiny nod, but said nothing. Perhaps your upbringing in the reality of the village had granted you more education in this matter than the prince's in his fanciful palace. People would always think such things of others. There were whispers in the village whenever two people of differing stations were caught together, and there was never _this _big a difference in _those _stations. There was not a chance in all the world that you would ever speak such a thought aloud to the man above you: if you had learned nothing else during your stay at the palace, it was that.

"My mother has expressed fondness for you. My brother has warned me not to mistreat you, lest he gather a band of soldiers to rescue you from my evil clutches." He smiled a bit, and the sight was enough to hush your protest that Prince Thor had met you but once and thus reasonably should not have developed an opinion of you in either direction. "And that servant girl in the library was looking at you with adoration unlike anything I have ever seen—and, pet, I am a member of the royal family. I do not understand why you insist so vehemently on your lowness, but I must demand that you cease immediately. You must remember that I chose you, and that fact must now supplant all others in your mind. Am I clear?"

Your brows knitted together and you looked up at him questioningly. "Loki...does your brother truly call you evil?"

There was a moment's pause in which you caught your breath because what if, by not answering his question right away, you had irritated him even further, but then his eyes closed and his lips parted with peals of laughter. His hand fisted in your hair, but it wasn't too hard or painful at all—it was...pleasant. This sounded like real laughter, honest and unguarded, and when he was finally finished he bent low to press his lips to yours.

"He did not mean it, only implied that I was some foul demon keeping a damsel such as yourself locked away from the rest of the world. Then he insisted I bring you to dinner more often. I fear you will be subjected to my mother's ladies on a regular basis in the future. Many apologies, my lady."

Just as you were about to reply with some kind of assertion that it was no burden to dine with those ladies, there came a gentle knocking on the prince's door. He called out for the visitor to enter, and a tall, slender servant with blonde hair tied back into a knot at the back of her head entered. She looked about the room for a moment, clearly seeking a place to put the tray she carried.

"Here by the fire will be fine," Loki said. He didn't even look at her. If he had, he would undoubtedly have seen the way she looked at him. She looked like the girls from the ball when they bowed to the royals: moon-faced and starstruck. You were tempted to tell him to look at this servant if he wanted to see someone gazing at him with adoration like Rowan from the library, but you held your tongue lest you embarrass her. She put the tray down in front of the two of you, and you would have sat up but Loki's hand was still resting firmly against your forehead. The servant hesitated.

"Master Loki, if I am not interrupting, I was also given orders to apply this to the lady's wounds." She held out a small pot: some kind of ointment, probably, for the bruise. Loki's hand moved from your forehead to touch the tender skin below your eye.

"That will be fine," he said thoughtfully. "My lady's beauty has been marred by such injuries for far too long already. By all means." He helped you into a sitting position and then stood up. The girl sank to her knees next to you and dabbed out a bit of cream from the pot. As she smeared it across your face, you noticed two things. First, she was quite pretty, with clear blue eyes and a fine scattering of freckles across her nose; and second, that she was glaring at you with what appeared to be hatred.

When she caught you looking at her, she glanced over her shoulder and then hissed at you: "Don't get too comfortable, whore, because everyone knows you're only here to keep his bed warm until his real wife can arrive." Her words felt like a slap to the face. Where could you even begin to address them? You looked over the girl's shoulder to see if Loki was nearby and, if he was, whether he had heard her words. Maybe you were dreaming. She scooped out a bit more of the cream and continued to apply it, with rather more force that you would have thought necessary. "I saw what you were doing in the garden tonight, and you're disgusting. It's not going to work. My Master is going to marry a lady of good breeding and have his own palace, and you're going to wind up tending the fires. Filthy slag." With that, she dug her thumb into what must have been the very center of the bruise, and you pushed her away with a yelp.

"What are you doing?" You demanded, rising to your knees to back away from her. "What did I ever do to you? It's not my fault I'm here."

"But you certainly don't mind it, do you?" She was sneering at you. "Innocent little flower basking in all that attention from the prince. You're shameless. We all laugh at you, you know. I can't wait for the day he turns you away. He should never have brought you here, not when there are plenty of fine women right here in the palace."

"Like you?"

The voice came from behind her, and you got to watch her face go pale before she turned to face the prince. Loki strode over and hoisted her to her feet. "I'll not have you speak to my lady in such a manner. Apologize to her, or I'll have you and your entire family removed from the palace this very night."

You stood as well. This whole situation had gone from uncomfortable to...well, to even more uncomfortable. You didn't care about apologies. At this point, all you wanted was for the girl to just leave. But Loki was gripping her arm and she was twisting, trying to free herself from his grip. His eyes were locked fiercely on you.

"I'm sorry!" the girl managed. "Please forgive me, lady. I meant no harm."

"Alright," you said. It was painful to watch her try to escape. "Alright. Loki, please. She did nothing."

"She entered our chambers and spoke ill of you. I heard the whole thing. You call that nothing?"

"Loki." You tried to keep your voice low, coaxing. You just wanted the girl out of the room so you could eat, and then go to sleep. "What has she done? I am unharmed. Will you punish everyone for every imagined slight against me? Please, my lord prince. She has done no lasting offense. Will you release her so we may dine together?"

As you watched, the anger seemed to drain from the prince, and he let go of the girl with a huff. "Your lady," he informed her, "has been very kind to you despite your behavior, and you will do exceedingly well to remember that in the future before you deign to insult her before me or any other inhabitant of this palace. Now get out."

The girl nodded and skittered out of the room, though she did take the time in the doorway to offer you one last baleful stare. You wanted so desperately to roll your eyes at her behavior, but instead you turned your attention to the tray, to pour two mugs of tea. Loki was still standing. You could hear his fists clenching and relaxing at his sides, and his breaths were still coming fast and sharp.

"Sire, your tea will get cold, and then what was the point of having this tray sent up in the first place?"

A long, heavy exhale, and then he finally sank down next to you. You held out the mug to him, and he accepted it.

"So there is one other person in the palace with as low an esteem for you as you have for yourself," he said after several long sips of tea. You smiled at him. "But you see how foolish she is."

There were two small tureens on the tray as well, and when you lifted their lids, two thick stews began steaming at you merrily. They were joined by a plate heaping with bread. Soon the room was filled with the delicious aroma of the foods before you.

"Yes, Loki. She did not even wait to be sure you had left the room." It was a joke, of course, and you waited a moment or two before looking to your prince with a smile. Though harsh, her words had not shocked or injured you simply because they were truth.

Together you finished the stew and then sipped your tea, and then your found yourself stretched out on the rug once again with your head in your prince's lap. Between the meal, the tea, the fire, and the prince's fingers combing once more through your hair, your eyelids soon grew heavy. The next thing you knew, you were being lifted up into someone's arms. You startled awake and tightened your arms around their neck. You hadn't been lifted like this since you were very young.

"I did not mean to wake you, pet," the voice was soft like velvet against your ear. It reminded you immediately of where you were and who must, therefore, be holding you. "Though perhaps it is for the best. Dress on or off?"

Modesty or no, it took all of a moment's consideration of the dress's tight buttons and constricting bodice before you had your answer. "Off."

You waited for the prince to put you down, to allow you to stand on your own and undress yourself, but instead he placed you gently upon the soft furs that covered his bed. He knelt beside you on the mattress and, with a firm grasp on one hip, rolled you to one side to work the buttons on the back of your dress. They were quick work, and he allowed you to stretch out on your back again. Lit by the dying glow of the fire, he drew the dress down your body and trailed kisses behind it. His lips stopped first at your shoulder, and then your collarbone, along the swells of both of your breasts and then down between them. You squirmed ticklishly when his tongue dipped into your bellybutton, but couldn't help but shiver as he sank his teeth carefully into the curve of one of your hips.

Lithe fingers followed the material of the dress down the outsides of your thighs, and the fact that you kept your knees pressed tightly together did not escape his attention. Instead of fighting you, pressing them apart to take what, by all accounts should have rightfully been his long ago, he kissed both knees and let the dress sink forgotten to the floor next to the bed before lying next to you. Your head was spinning from the whole situation—not just the kisses, and certainly not just your own nakedness. You could not look over at the prince until you had finished struggling to cover yourself with one of the furs, and even then you were struck by shyness.

"You are stunning, my dear," he said. His voice held no calculation, only...admiration? You stole a peek at him, but he caught you and grinned. "Men would fight wars and lay waste to cities just for a look at your naked form." He dropped a kiss to your shoulder, and you fought the urge to hide your eyes.

"I hope that is not how you plan to motivate your armies, my lord prince?" It was primarily a joke, but your voice wavered just a bit as you remembered the tortures the prince had threatened you with not so long ago.

"Pet, when you are lying naked in my bed, does it not strike you as oddly formal to address me as your lord prince? Is my name so very hard to say?"

Truthfully, you had not given any thought to how you were addressing the man beside you, but perhaps the formality was another way to try to hide, to cover yourself. "Forgive me. Loki." Emboldened by the way his pupils dilated at the sound of his name falling from your lips, you reached out to run a finger through his sleek dark hair. Now his eyes closed and a pleasured hum emanated from somewhere in his throat. "My Loki."

The words felt odd, but not...wrong. The prince's eyes did not fly open with surprise, nor did his mouth curl into some arrogant smirk. Instead, he turned his head to press his lips against the tender underside of your wrist and inhaled deeply. After a few more moments, he opened his eyes, and the brilliance that stared out at you almost startled you.

"You are forgiven, pet. _My_ pet. If there is a man who thinks himself worthy to look at you, he will have to come through me first. Sleep well, my love." He kissed your wrist one last time and then turned over onto his stomach, leaving you on your own. Before you could drift off as well, however, you remembered that you were to meet with the queen tomorrow. You remained stiff and silence on the mattress, lest you disturb the prince, but both your heart and your mind were racing. The list of possibilities were endless. She was sending you away. She was sending you to the servants' quarters. You had mortally offended someone and would be put to death. You were not fulfilling your duties and thus would be punished. It became harder and harder to breathe, but you tried to force the thoughts out of your mind as you turned onto your side facing the prince's sleeping body.

He had not bothered to cover himself, nor to remove his trousers, so he was lying there half-dressed and resplendent in the firelight. The muscles of his back moved ever so slightly as he breathed, as he shifted, and before you'd thought it through, you were reaching out to touch him. You traced your finger along his spine from his shoulder blades to the waist of his trousers and then back up again. When he didn't move, you continued to trace lazy spiraling patterns against his pale skin. His back was smooth and the fire must have warmed him because he was not cool to the touch tonight. There were a few scars marring the perfection of his skin, mostly pale and faded but still there marking where his wounds had once been. You traced them, too, and finally summoned enough courage to move closer in the bed and press a kiss to the biggest and darkest of the scars. It looked like it would have hurt.

When your lips touched his skin, the prince stirred a bit, but you did not pull away until he was turning over to look at you. You pulled away, but he followed and locked his fingers around your wrist.

"I thought you were asleep, sire," you mumbled. He pulled you closer and kissed you. It was soft, and not demanding.

"I rarely sleep. Why are you still awake?" Once again, his voice sounded perfect, unmarred by sleep. You shrugged. He would only dismiss your fears as ridiculous, after all. He released your hand and reached up to smooth your hair away from your face. "Is it about my mother?" But then again, you should have known that he would already know. There was no use in denying it, so you just nodded.

"I'm sorry. Loki, but it is just...different for me. I was raised to fear her. I was raised to fear all of you." You searched his face in the darkness, but his expression did not change. He was not laughing at you, and he was not angry with you.

"Your father has done you a greater disservice than you will ever know," he informed you with a puff of laughter. "You have nothing to fear from any of us." He paused for a moment, and then gave you a sinister grin. "Well, maybe just a bit from me, but you already knew that." All you could do was sink your teeth into your lower lip and try to keep your face expressionless. Apparently he saw what he needed to see, because he kissed you again and rolled onto his back, pulling you into his arms so your head was resting on his shoulder. "Just go to sleep, alright? The morning will come whether you do it or not, and I don't think you're going to want to fall asleep in front of her majesty the queen."

The thought was horrifying, and just enough to distract you from the feeling of Loki's skin against your chest. His fingers ghosted along your arm and up your shoulder, then back down again. The touch should have set you on edge and made it even harder to sleep, but instead it guided you down into the forgiving depths of sleep.

As before, Loki was gone the next morning when you opened your eyes. You buried your face in the pillow for a moment, unwilling to face the sunlight streaming in through the windows, before a quiet cough in the doorway made you pull the covers up over your shoulders and look up. Sindri stood there, grinning shyly and holding a tray.

"Good morning, my lady," she said. Her voice was soft. "Hungry?"

You groaned and hid your face again, remembering the queen's request. Your stomach was already twisting with your nervousness, but perhaps it would be unwise to go to her without eating anything at all. Surely the only thing worse than falling asleep in front of the woman would be a surprise appearance by your growling stomach. You sat up in the bed, careful to keep the blankets wrapped around your bare shoulders as the girl brought the tray over to the bed.

"Are you hurt, my lady?" She seemed hesitant, but leaned closer to look at you. "The prince, did he...are you hurt? Should I send someone to care for you?"

You couldn't help but smile at her concern as you picked up a mug of tea. "I am quite alright," you assured her. "Would you like some fruit? Bread?" She didn't seem to believe you at first, and hovered just out of reach. When you looked up and offered her a smile, though, she seemed convinced, and tucked some of the fruit into her apron. "The queen wants to see me today, so I'm just...anxious."

Sindri laughed and shook her head. "Don't be, my lady. The queen is lovely. She has been very kind to me. She is kind to all of us."

"The prince said the same thing. I am beginning to suspect that he was telling the truth." You quickly drained the rest of the tea and replaced the mug on the tray, but that was about as much as you could stomach. "You can have anything else you want. I cannot eat."

She studied you for a few more moments with concern in her eyes, but then scooped up a slice of toasted bread. She spoke between bites, seemingly recounting every story she could remember of the queen's kindness, or beauty, or anything else she could think of, and by the time she was finished, you were almost feeling better about the whole situation. Sindri helped you into your gown of soft green silk, and worked your hair back into a braid.

"There, my lady," she said, coming around to look at you again. "You look wonderful. There is nothing to fear, I promise. Are you ready?"

Absolutely not, but it wasn't as though you had any other choice. So, with a pounding heart and shaky knees, you allowed her to lead you through the palace to a great set of doors more ornate than any you had seen so far.

"The throne room," she whispered. "Go on, she will be waiting for you."

It hardly felt right for you to touch the doors to open them, such was their finery, but you did, and stepped into the golden light of the room. It was not until your eyes adjusted that you realized the queen was sitting at the top of a flight of stairs, but when you did finally see her, you sank into the deepest curtsy that you could manage. "Your Highness," you murmured.

There was a long silence, and then you heard soft footsteps descending the staircase to you. She would be standing in front of you, then. It was hard to breathe. The queen—_the queen—_was standing in front of you. She could see you, how pathetic and out of place you were.

"Rise, child," her voice was kind, and it almost sounded as though she were smiling. Soft fingers were pressed to your chin, all but forcing you to look up at her. "My sons do not bow to me. I daresay I will not be forcing you to." You stood up straighter, though it was still difficult to look at her. "That's better. Come sit with me." She took your hand and led you over to the stairs.

"You wished to speak with me, my Queen?" You managed after the two of you had found a seat. The queen—_the queen—_was sitting there on the steps with you, and she had yet to let go of your hand.

"Are you happy here, child?"

What sort of question was that? You found yourself staring at her with disbelief for longer than you really should have, but then you nodded fiercely. "Yes, my Queen. Yes, of course. It is wonderful here, thank you so very much for your kindness."

"You are taken care of? The servants see to your needs?"

"Of course, my Queen. They have all been wonderful." Was this about the servants, then? "Your Highness, if I offended you that night at dinner, or made anybody look foolish or was out of line, then I apologize, truly, with every fiber of my being. I—"

You heard her laugh, and then her hand was on your shoulder. "No, child. Do not worry yourself over that." She leaned in closer, and her voice took on a conspiratorial tone. "I have been paying very close attention to that man for a long time now. If you had not risen to stop him, I would have. You merely saw him first. Thank you for sparing my girl that humiliation."

You sputtered uncertainly, looking for some kind of response but coming up empty. All you could manage was a weak smile. She seemed to accept it.

"And my son? He treats you well?"

She would be talking about Loki, of course. You nodded again, still searching for words. "Yes, my Queen. The prince is...very kind to me." It was not the whole truth, but it also was not a complete lie. And she saw right through you. She sighed and took your hand again.

"I know he can be difficult, but he is my son, and I love him. He can be very sweet."

"Yes, ma'am." It was strange to think about Loki being sweet. He could be kind, of course, in his way, but you were not certain you could ever call it "sweet". Sweetness did not typically have that faint threat of danger lurking beneath the surface. But of course you would not argue with the Queen over the sweetness of her son. That would be suicide, pure and simple, no matter how kind the woman was supposed to be.

"He will be needing someone," she said thoughtfully. "He is well past the age my husband was when we married."

Your throat felt dry. That was the second mention of Loki's marriage in less than a day. Perhaps that blonde servant from the night before hadn't been making everything up. You hadn't given her words another thought, but it would make sense for her to know more than she should. People often spoke in front of those of the lower class without thinking. Would you be able to call the girl back to you one night? What else did she know about this potential wife?

She was looking at you expectantly, and you realized with a jolt that she must have asked you a question. Your face flushed scarlet and you grimaced. "Forgive me, my Queen, but...what did you say?"

She looked at you a bit strangely. "I said, what are your thoughts, child?"

As though you really had a choice! You fought to keep a neutral expression whilst coming up with a suitable answer. "I...absolutely understand that, my Queen. A man needs a good wife."

"And...?"

There was more? Why did the thought of Loki marrying some noble-born lady—as he was meant to—make your stomach feel like it was sinking? It sounded like it would be happening soon, even, which would mean that you would not have to give yourself to him if you were careful. Would you be sent away? Would you be sent to the servants' quarters after all? Would you be allowed to return home? The world was a much kinder place for a woman with virginity intact than a palace whore. It was really in your best interest to keep yourself pure. But then a terrible thought struck you: would you be expected to serve the prince and his new wife? The thought of bringing breakfast to some beautiful woman in the prince's bed inspired a curious twinge of jealousy, but you had to fight that back. You had no justification for it. And it was just strange. You swallowed hard.

"And...my Queen, I will happily fulfill whatever role is assigned to me upon the prince's marriage." Surely that was appropriate, was it not? No, you had said something wrong somewhere along the line, because the queen laughed, short and dry but fill of mirth. "Your Highness?"

She took your face in both of her hands and, despite the fear that practically paralyzed you, you noted that her hands smelled like the white flowers from the garden. "Ridiculous child..." she said, and pressed her forehead to yours. Something was very, very strange. "You misunderstand. I do not intend for you to serve my son and his wife. I mean for you to marry him."

No. You would have jerked away from the woman above you if you could, scrambled backwards down the stairs and run from the room. But she still held you with a tender grasp, so the most you could do was close your eyes and shake your head as vigorously as possible.

"My Queen, I am deeply honored. Deeply and truly honored, but there has been a mistake. I am not who you think I am. I come from a tiny village. I have no breeding. My family has no money and no land, and certainly no power. I am sorry you have been led so astray, and I never meant to fool anyone, but please, Your Highness, I am not fit to marry a prince." How could your background have escaped her knowledge? What if Loki had lied to his parents? Would they punish you for it?

Without thinking about it, you raised your hands to the Queen's, to pull them away from your face, but the instant you touched her you froze. How dare you touch royalty? So there you were, sitting on the steps of the throne room with the Queen of the land, clutching her hands whilst she cupped your cheeks. You did not even realize you were crying until she was brushing hot tears away with her thumbs and hushing you in a gentle voice.

"There now, don't cry. Look at me, darling, no tears. Why are you so frightened?"

There was no harm in honesty at this point. Everything was falling apart anyway. "I am afraid that you are angry with me."

"Whatever for?" The amused exasperation in her voice simultaneously relieved you and shamed you. The poor woman, having to deal with a trembling nobody when she should be running the palace.

"You...have been misled. I am no lady." Would it be worse to sniffle in front of the Queen, or to let your nose drip? You had no handkerchief.

"You are lady enough for the prince," she said. "And I do not care about noble backgrounds or money or land. We have plenty enough of that already. Loki chose you from all of the others at the ball, and I think you know as well as I what will happen if we try to go against his wishes." She smiled at you, and that one expression was enough to justify every single story that Sindri had told you about the woman's kindness. "You are no prisoner here, and no slave—even to my son. If you are opposed to the idea, you will go free."

"No..." You spoke before you were even conscious of the answer forming in your mind. Were you actually opposed to the idea, strongly enough to ask to be sent away? The prince was mercurial and sometimes downright frightening, but realistically, was he any worse than your father or any of the men in your village? "My Queen, I am...honored."

"Yes, you've said that." She was smiling again—or still?—and brushed her thumbs over your cheeks one last time before releasing you. "There now, is that better? And before you go getting worked up again, if the prince is to propose, he will presumably do it on his own. We have not summoned people from across the land to attend your wedding. Okay? Nothing has changed. I just needed to be sure of you, that is all."

You nodded. There wasn't much else you could actually do at the moment, and you didn't trust your voice to speak. You drew in a shaky breath to try to steady your heart and calm your nerves. The Queen squeezed your hands reassuringly, and glanced towards the doorway. "You are excused, child. I believe there is someone waiting outside for you."

Still, you waited for her to rise to her feet before you dared to do the same, and you couldn't help but sink into a curtsy before backing down the stairs. Despite her admonition, you had been raised in a certain way, and you could not turn your back to royalty like the queen. You kept your eyes fixed on the ground even as you backed out of the throne room. Your nerves were still wound so tightly that you couldn't keep yourself from gasping when a pair of arms encircled your waist.

You spun around and found yourself looking up into the face of—who else?—Loki. Unabashedly, you threw your arms around his waist and buried your face in his neck. If he was surprised, he did not show it as he threaded his fingers through your hair and held you tightly. "My lady, what happened? Are you alright?"

"I am fine," you murmured into the solid curve of his neck. You felt rather foolish after your encounter with the queen, and all you really wanted to do was hide yourself away from everybody. Failing that, standing here with the prince would do. Who would dare interrupt the two of you, after all?

Loki turned the you around so that your back was pressed against the wall, and then stood before you as though shielding you from anybody walking by. It was hard to look at him, but he slid one hand along your cheek and guided your face upwards, so really you had no choice. His eyes narrowed as he looked at you, but he did not move in to kiss you until you managed a watery smile.

"What did she say in there?" You couldn't blame him for being curious, but the thought of repeating everything she had said was very difficult.

"She asked if I was happy here."

"And what did you say?" His eyes were trained on your face, sharp and probing as ever. For a moment you thought it strange that he would care so much about your answer but then you thought about the way he had been behaving lately and realized that it was not so strange after all. Suddenly shy once more, you ducked your head to try to escape those eyes, but he stooped down to follow you. "My lady?"

"Yes." It was a whisper. You straightened your shoulders and met his eyes again, unable to hold back your smile. "I said yes, Loki."

He laughed a little, and you might almost have called it a sound of relief, but before you could put much more thought into it, his mouth was on yours. He pressed still closer to you, and his knee rode high between your legs as he dominated, then explored, your mouth. Even the knowledge that the Queen might still be in the next room couldn't keep a soft moan from escaping your lips, but the prince devoured it hungrily.

It was you who broke the kiss. You pushed against Loki's chest and turned your head away to draw in a breath, but he just took hold of your wrists to pin them against the wall and turned his attentions to your neck. Between kisses, he sank his teeth into tender flesh carefully, apparently knowing just how hard he could bite before the pain would override the pleasure, and though you struggled against his hands for a moment, you soon gave in and just stood there trying not to moan aloud.

"You make such noises, pet," he breathed against your ear. "Little gasps, moans, whimpers. Do you want someone to see us?"

The idea was horrifying! You shook your head, trying to find your voice, but he chuckled against the skin of your throat and then his teeth were slicing again. You had to bite your lip to keep from crying out, but you couldn't stop the whining hum, and Loki pulled away with a grin. "Would you like to go somewhere more private, love?"

You swallowed hard and nodded without thinking about it, and Loki took your hand and led you down the corridor.


	10. Chapter 10

AN: Ah, before we get started, I do want to let you know that there are some dirty bits coming up, in case you want to avoid those or something. Additionally, in case you haven't already been driven off, the dirty scene does have a bit of dubious consent to it. It's not forceful and it's not violent, and it only lasts a paragraph or two until things are better again, but it's not 100% roses and candlelight, so, as always, if that's something that might trigger you, please don't hesitate to drop me a line and I can send you a version of this chapter with that part removed.

* * *

His mouth was on yours before the door had even clicked shut behind you, his hands grasping at your hips and pulling you up against his body as he walked you backwards. You stumbled a bit when the backs of your legs hit the side of his bed, but he merely lifted you up against his body and then guided you down onto the center of the mattress. He kept one arm around your back, pulling you closer, holding you tightly. His mouth traveled back down your neck, kissing and sucking and biting, and it didn't make sense to you that your body was reacting so strongly to his touch when just a few days ago you couldn't stand to be near him, but you threaded your fingers through the hair at the base of his neck and pulled tightly as you bit back another moan.

Did it matter?

His hand slipped between the two of you now, bunching your skirt up and creeping beneath it. The feel of his fingers against the inside of your thigh made you shiver, but not in the way you would have expected. You wanted more of this. Not even an hour before, you had been relieved to realize that you might not have to give yourself to the prince, and yet here you found yourself practically panting for his touch.

The shock of the thought made you pull away as much as you could and turn your head to the side to draw in a steadying breath, but the prince simply moved his mouth to your neck again, trailing his lips along your throat and jawline and up behind your earlobe. "Loki..." Your voice was laughable: hoarse and breathy. Finally you took his face in your hands and pushed him away just enough to break the spell he seemed to hold on you, though the patterns he was tracing on the tender skin of your thigh were still quite distracting. He looked at you questioningly. "I...I don't know what this...is." Yet again, your cheeks burned hot, and you couldn't look away. Of course you knew what this was. You just weren't sure what it meant. Would he laugh at you? Grow frustrated? Stalk away somewhere and leave you to your own devices?

Perhaps you should have known better by now. The corners of his lips curled up a little and he turned his head to kiss your palm. "Don't you?" The hand that rested between your legs moved higher now, and you could feel him brushing a finger against you through your knickers. Before you could think—or stop yourself, you were arching your hips to press still closer, needing without knowing exactly what you needed. "Let me show you."

The weight of his body was gone, then, and he was moving down the bed to settle between your legs. He pushed your skirts even higher. The exposure should have made you want to kick him away and run somewhere safer, but even when the chill air of the castle kissed your skin and he hooked his fingers through the top of your knickers, you couldn't find the desire to escape. He tugged them off of you and, presumably, let them drop to the floor beside the bed as he had done last night with your dress. Was this...when he'd asked if you'd wanted to go somewhere with more privacy, was he actually asking something entirely different? As always, he seemed to read your mind, and gave a short laugh as he pressed your knees apart.

"This is not what you think, gentle pet," he said, and the sight of him grinning up at you from between your legs made you want to hide your face. But he held your gaze as one slim finger sought, then found, entry. He was moving slowly, teasing you, and the look in his eyes promised that there would be much more before he was through. He lowered his face to kiss your stomach just below your navel and then—oh. _Oh._

Your first instinct was to close your legs, push him away, cover yourself. Surely people didn't actually _do _things like that. It was a trick, and in a moment he would pull back and laugh at your lack of experience. But he kept one hand pressed against one of your knees—he would not let you close yourself off so easily—and moved his tongue against that most sensitive part of your body, and you decided that you didn't care if it was a trick or if he would laugh at you, because it felt...wonderful. He pulled you into his mouth and your fingers came down to grip in his hair.

He drew you close to the edge and let you slip backwards again, then added another finger and did it again. As time passed, your need (and frustration) mounted, until you were bucking your hips against his mouth and gasping out something wordless and pleading. Hazily, you remembered the first time he'd touched you, the strange demand, and fought to form the words he wanted to hear.

"Please."

He hummed a response, and his fingers twisted inside you in a way that was not quite enough. Your breath was erratic, your body thrumming with desperation. "Loki, please. Just let me come. I need..."

But you couldn't finish the sentence. You didn't need to. He hummed something else, and you couldn't be sure what he was saying, but it was finally enough. You shuddered and your fingers locked in his hair, but he didn't stop, didn't stop even as you rocked against him and rode out your climax.

When your breathing finally began to return to normal, you dragged your eyes open and realized that the prince was watching you intently. He grinned again and slipped his fingers into his mouth all without breaking eye contact with you. You couldn't speak—though even if you could, what would you have said? Your head fell backwards against the mattress and you let one arm flop across your eyes. Your whole body felt limp and mostly sated, though there was a fire still burning somewhere inside you. This was not over.

Loki stretched out above you once again, taking hold of your wrist to drag your arm away from your face. He kissed you, and you tasted yourself mixed with the now-familiar taste of his mouth. You couldn't stop a shiver from running the length of your body, but it was...it was good.

"Alright, pet?" His voice was low, and when you finally ventured a look at him, the heat in his eyes startled you yet again. You swallowed thickly and nodded. Why was it so difficult to find words? Hesitantly, you brushed your hand against his cheek.

He moved off of you, though he stayed on his side with his head propped up, still looking at you. There were no demands in his face, only interest and something like affection. You sucked your lower lip between your teeth to wet it, and his eyes followed the tiny motion hungrily. The air was heavy, heavy the way it had been before the dinner with the royal family, but this time you didn't feel the need to hide. This time all you could feel your answer, your body's answer to his unspoken question. Maybe it was because of the queen's revelation, or maybe it was because you were finally comfortable enough here, but you met the prince's gaze and remembered his words. His promise.

"Yes."

At first, his eyes narrowed with confusion, but as you watched, the realization flashed across his face. He was careful to hide it again, of course, as he reached over to smooth a lock of your hair behind your ear. "My lady?"

"Yes." Your voice was stronger now, even as your heartbeat quickened under the prince's sharp gaze.

"You're going to have to be more specific, pet. I cannot read your mind."

"I want it."

But still his face remained carefully blank. It made sense that he would make you speak the words aloud, but the idea was daunting.

"Loki. I want...you."

He smiled wryly, but otherwise kept his face the very picture of innocence. "So do many others. What makes you any different?"

With mounting frustration, you sat up and rubbed your eyes. Maybe you were not ready after all, if you could not bring yourself to say it directly. It was strange that someone in your position could still have so much pride, but the words would not come. Just as you were about to tell the prince that no, nevermind, there was nothing that made you any different, there was a gentle tug at the tie on the back of your gown.

"I want you too." The bed shifted—he was kneeling behind you now, and his fingers slowly unraveled the back of your dress. He sank his teeth carefully into your shoulder. "I've wanted you for a very long time." He squeezed your hips. "Stand up. Face me. Take it off." Wordlessly, you did as he asked, and though he had already seen you nude several times before, you could not watch his face as the dress fell into a puddle around your feet. There was a rustling, and the prince's tunic joined it on the floor. He slid off of the bed and pulled you into his arms.

"You are certain?" He cupped your breast in the palm of his hand and rolled your nipple beneath his thumb. You nodded, but knew that would not be enough for him, so you raised your eyes to meet his.

"Yes, my prince. Please." Despite your nerves, you found yourself smiling at him. He moved his hand from your breast to your cheek and stooped slightly to kiss you.

"Undress me, then." He rested his forehead against yours. His eyes were dark and yet...reassuring, somehow. He waited patiently this time as you fumbled with his belt, and when you pushed his trousers down to his ankles, you sank to your knees at his feet. This was the first time you had seen _him_ completely nude, and the sight took your breath away. You looked up at him along the length of his body, and without a word you took him into your mouth.

His hand came down to grip your shoulder as you swirled your tongue along his length and worked him in and out of your mouth. As before, he filled your senses—the way he smelled, the way he tasted, the way he was twitching and throbbing in your mouth: it was almost overwhelming. With one hand wrapped around the base of his cock and the other gripping his hip, you did your best to bring him to the edge the way he had done for you. Just as you were falling into a rhythm and listening for the pleasured growls that you knew would rumble through his chest, he pushed you away.

"If you want to go through with this," he managed in a strained voice. "You have to stop now."

He extended a hand to help you to your feet, then lifted you onto the mattress. This was going to happen. Now it was your turn to offer your hand in invitation. Because as quickly as your heart was racing, there was no hesitation within it. Loki positioned himself between your legs once again and closed his mouth over yours. You could feel him pressing against your entrance, and at first it was good, but then a sharp pain stabbed through your recently-pleasured limbs and you fought back a cry.

Something was wrong. You had made a mistake.

"No..." You pushed against his chest, hands turning into claws as you fought to push him off of you. "Loki, it hurts. Stop..."

He responded by gripping your wrists in his hands and pinning them to the mattress on either side of your head. "No. You asked for this, and I am not going to stop until we are finished." And the intrusion did not stop. He was pushing his way into you, through resisting flesh, and though you struggled against him, his grasp held. Was it always like this? Perhaps the warnings you had grown up hearing were not necessarily about remaining pure, but about putting off this pain for as long as possible? "It always hurts at first, love, just give it time."

How could you give it time? True, it was hardly the worst pain you had ever felt, but the intimacy of this made it all the more terrible. You were open and vulnerable to the prince. You were at his mercy. And you had _asked _for it. You had _asked _him to do this to you, practically begged for it. But then, was this not what he had intended all along? You had to choke back the sob that rose in your chest, but stopped fighting him and did your best to merely remain still on the mattress. After a moment he stopped, and you realized that his hips were finally pressing against yours.

"Open your eyes." It was a command, but his voice was soft. In any case, it made you realize that you had clenched your eyes shut in order to block him out. You eased them open, and were surprised to find that the prince's brow was wrinkled with concern. "Does it still hurt?"

He moved cautiously, almost imperceptibly, and as he did, the pain began to lessen. Even more remarkable, as it did, a strange pleasure was taking its place. Your body was adapting, stretching to accommodate your prince, and as he moved, he was stoking the embers that still burned inside you. Slowly, almost disbelieving, you shook your head.

He released your wrists, then, and supported himself on his elbows in order to hold your face in both hands. "Do you still want to stop?"

You reached up to smooth your fingertips along his eyebrows and down his cheeks as you considered it. What was done was done, wasn't it? And if you were past the worst part, why shouldn't he continue? And...if you were very honest with yourself...you still wanted it. So you dragged the prince's mouth down to meet yours and kissed him as hard as you could before your shyness took over again and you pulled back. You shook your head again. "Forgive me, Loki."

"Nothing to forgive," he replied as he slowly withdrew from you, only to ease his way back in. There was less pain this time, and soon the only thing you felt as he moved within you was a slick heat and a growing desire. Your moans returned, escaping unchecked as he took you slowly but thoroughly. "That's better," he murmured against your skin. "I'd rather hear my lady's pleasure than her fear any day."

"Loki..." You turned your face away to try to escape his words, but couldn't hide your smile. Were people supposed to talk during something like this? Though he was the prince, so perhaps if he wished to talk, he would do it regardless. He followed your lips with his and captured them in another searing kiss before reaching down to brush his thumb against you. The touch sent you spiraling closer and closer to another climax with each thrust, and soon you were clutching his shoulders and murmuring his name without meaning to. When you finally came around him, he sank his teeth into your skin where your neck met your shoulders and the pain was just enough to draw out and accent the sweet torture that flooded through your body.

Your muscles had not even begun to relax after your own climax when the prince was growling something against your skin. His movements became jerky, uncoordinated, and after several more hard thrusts he dropped his head to your shoulder, breathing hard against your skin. You stroked his back and found yourself trying to memorize all the little twitches and stretches of the muscles you felt there.

The next time the prince moved, it was to pull himself away and collapse on his back beside you. You turned onto your side to study him, and realized with a pang that your nails had apparently cut into his skin—four half-moons glowed crimson against the pale top of each shoulder. You reached out your hand to touch them apologetically, and he turned his head to examine them as well.

"Welcome battle wounds," he said. Were you blushing? Did it matter? He caught your hand with his and tugged lightly until your head was on his chest as it had been last night. You shaped your body against his and, feeling bold, draped your arm across his stomach to hold him to you. He responded by tightening his arm around your shoulders, a welcome and peaceful embrace after...well, that. It was then that you realized you could hear his heart beating beneath your ear, and you laid there in silence for a while, listening and breathing and trying not to think about what this would change.

Loki seemed to have fallen asleep by the time your next thought struck you. His seed. Your whole body jolted as you realized that you had taken no precautions. His fingers combed through your bed-mussed hair, reminding you that of course he had not fallen asleep.

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

"My lord, what if I should become... that is... Sire, what if there is a child?"

"Then there will be a child." His voice was languid, lazy. Of course he would not be as concerned as you. "It will make my mother happy, in any case." You could hear the smile in his voice, but it did nothing to calm the churning in your stomach. "What? You will not be sent away. Surely you have come to understand that by now."

"Of course." But even that knowledge would not dismiss your fears. It was not the banishment you feared, anyway. You were no mother. You'd had no practice, no kind motherly figure in your life. What would you do with a child, assuming you even survived the birth?

The prince must have found your silence dissatisfying, because you felt him move to get a better look at you. You simply closed your eyes and tried to focus on listening only to his heartbeat.

"My lady, what are you afraid of?"

"Childbirth is dangerous." It was enough of an answer. Part of you was sorry you had even brought the subject up. If it was the prince's will that you bear his child, you could hardly argue very strongly against it. If it was nature's will that you even conceive a child, how could you stop it at this point? He stroked your cheek, tugged affectionately on your hair.

"Your mother. You fear it because it took her from you." It should not have been so shocking to you that he would remember that, but your eyes still opened wide with surprise. At least he could not see your face. "I will summon the best physicians in all of Asgard. They will not leave your side until you are well again. No one, not even death, will take you from me. Darling, do not be so frightened."

It was easier said than done. Still, you swallowed hard and nodded against his chest, though you would not raise your head to look at him. If you had trusted your voice, you probably should have been thanking him, but instead you worried your lower lip between your teeth. It was best to change the subject, or else let the silence stretch on between you, because it seemed wrong to provoke an argument after all that had just happened.

But of course the prince was not to be fooled. His chest heaved with a sigh and he wound his fingers through your hair. "My lady is not convinced."

You didn't speak. You couldn't speak. What was there to say?

"There is a plant in my mother's garden," he finally said. "Any woman who eats the leaves will not conceive a child. I will have it brought to you every day until you are less nervous. Does that sound better?" His voice was low and tinged with a note of amusement. You did not even bother to try to hide your relief as you tightened your arm around him in an embrace.

"Yes. Thank you." You raised your head to look up at the prince, who was studying you with concern in his eyes. When he caught you looking, his face smoothed into an easy smile, and you couldn't help but wonder how many other people had ever seen him looking like this. He was so relaxed, and his face was so...open and unlike any other time you'd ever seen him. You couldn't help yourself: you stretched up and kissed him—not hard or intensely, as that seemed like it might ruin the moment. You kissed him because you weren't quite sure how else to say what you wanted to say.

It seemed like he understood. He stroked the back of your neck and made no effort to deepen the kiss, and released you when you moved to rest your head on his shoulder again. But after only a few more moments, the feeling of lying there in bed with various bodily fluids drying on your skin finally overcame the feeling of lying there beside the prince, and you had to sit up. "I should...clean up a bit, sire."

"Wait." He closed his fingers around your wrist and looked at you thoughtfully. "I have a better idea. Just put your dress on, and come with me."

What was he planning? You studied him and tried not to narrow your eyes in suspicion. Was he going to parade you all over the palace with his seed still coating your thighs? Was that how he would demonstrate his...his ownership of you? Perhaps this had been an even bigger mistake than you had initially thought. It was true that realistically, you had no way to refuse him—not without making him angry or spoiling the moment—but at the same time, it was still difficult to accept that this would be your new life. It was mortifying...and sticky.

"Trust me." He sat up and retrieved your dress from the floor. "Put it on."

Still wary, you slid off of the bed and dressed, careful not to stain the fine silk. You struggled for a moment to fasten the back of the dress, but before long, you could feel Loki's elegant fingers gliding along your back. He pulled at the strings, and pressed his lips to your shoulder. "Breathe, pet." It was his turn to slide off the bed, and you kept your eyes fixed on the ground as he dressed. When he was finally finished, he held out his hand to you.

When you didn't take it, he stooped and took your hand in his, tugging lightly. "Come. I promise it will not be as bad as you're telling yourself it will be." You looked up at him now, and he flashed you a dazzling grin that seemed to confirm his promise. At the very least, your dress was long enough that people wouldn't actually _see_ anything. With a sigh that you tried (and likely failed) to hide, you allowed him to pull you to your feet and lead you out into the corridor.

"Sometime soon I will arrange for a servant to teach you the palace, so that you may move about freely. Perhaps after dinner. But until then, I have other plans." He kept his fingers laced through yours as you walked, and you did begin to recognize the path as being the same one you'd taken to the garden before. Sure enough, you eventually stepped outside and had to blink several times before your eyes adjusted to the harsh light of the midday sun.

Loki led you to the pond in the middle of the garden, though this was apparently a different side. You were far from the wooden platform, and the ground sloped gradually into the water, turning from brilliant grass to a rich mud. None of this still made any sense to you—not until the prince started to pull his tunic up over his head.

"It's more fun than a bath," was the only explanation he offered you as he dropped his clothing into a pile in the grass.

Swimming. You shook your head vigorously and took a few more steps away from the water for good measure. "My lord, I told you I cannot swim. Please, don't make me."

"I can teach you," he said simply. "It is easy. My brother and I have spent many long afternoons in the water." Without waiting for another word from you, he closed the distance between you and tugged at the ties on your dress. "You'll want to remove this, though, or it might weigh you down once it's gotten wet." He started to pull it down over your shoulders, but you crossed your arms in front of your chest defensively.

"Please don't, my lord. Anyone could see. And I do not like the water. I'll watch you swim instead. Or I could just come and...stand in the water."

"Everyone knows not to look at you, pet, and you want to clean yourself, don't you? Look at all this water waiting for you. Lower your arms."

He was still smiling, but there was an edge to his voice, a warning. As kind and caring as the prince had been to you lately, the fact remained that he was still a prince, and thus unaccustomed to being denied. Still you hesitated, thinking about what might happen if you insisted upon staying dry. He might throw you into the pond anyway, or perhaps lock you back up in your room. With a shaky sigh, you clenched your eyes shut but let your arms fall to your sides. He guided the dress down your body, and tossed it aside as well. You felt his hands come up to cover your breasts from behind, and he breathed hot against your ear: "Good girl."

You stood there for a few more moments, neither of you moving, until finally you felt him nudging your knees forward. "Into the water. We will go as slowly as you'd like."

With your eyes still closed tightly, you began to take very small steps toward the water. Warm mud squelched around your toes, and then you could feel the water start to lick at your ankles. It was hard, but you managed to keep your breathing steady, even as you felt the water rise up to your knees, and then your thighs, and finally your waist. It was warm, but you couldn't help but shiver.

"Did you watch your best friend drown, my lady? Did your brother throw you into a well when you were younger?" You might have expected him to sound irritated or mocking, but his voice was even.

"No," you answered, a bit defensively. You swallowed hard. "I merely never learned to swim. The only water in my village comes from a small stream with very swift waters. All of the children are taught to avoid it. We have no need of knowing how to swim."

He pushed you just a little bit further into the water, and soon it was up to your shoulders. At least your breasts would be covered. His touch slipped away, and then you felt him walk around to stand in front of you and extend his arms. "Now come to me."

But as you walked forward to obey, he kept moving backwards, until you could just barely touch the bottom of the water with your tip-toes. Without thinking about it, you began treading water to try to keep your head above, kicking off of the bottom to move faster. Your frustration grew along with your panic, but he stopped and swam forward just as you were about to beg him to stop. "Take a deep breath and relax," he said as he placed one hand on the small of your back and the other on your shoulder. Was he going to force you under? You gulped in several deep breaths just in case, and tried not to cry out as he guided you backwards, but you were able to relax just slightly as you realized that he was keeping his hand firmly against your back. Soon you realized that he was helping you to float. Little rivulets of water streamed down your breasts as they emerged from the surface of the pond, and you instinctively reached to cover yourself, but you started to sink almost immediately, so you had to move your arms away again.

"We are far from dry land, my lady, and even farther from the palace. There is no one here to admire your beauty except for me. Your modesty will remain intact, I assure you."

Still, your cheeks burned as you continued taking deep, even breaths. As time went by, you were even able to feel almost comfortable in the water. Just then, Loki took hold of one of your arms and pulled it up over your head in the water. "To move, force your hands down through the water in whatever direction you wish to go. Like this," and then he demonstrated. You dipped down in the water momentarily, but mimicked the motion with the arm he was not holding. You moved! It took you a few more tries to find a fluid motion, but soon you were paddling through the water with some amount of ease. You sat up and went back to treading water so that you could look at your prince. He was watching you with no small amount of pride etched on his features. "You've got it."

"I'm...a fast learner." You weren't entirely sure what to say in response to that.

"I know that." He smirked, and despite the water cooling on your face, you could feel your cheeks start to burn.

Eager to change the subject, you cast about for something else to say. "How deep is this water, anyway?"

Without a word, the prince sank below the surface. At first, everything seemed fine—he was probably going down to touch the bottom or stand up or something, to show you. But eventually the water around the place where he disappeared grew still and calm, undisturbed even by air bubbles breaking the surface. Something cold and steely settled in the pit of your stomach, something stronger than the panic you'd felt when you first walked into the water. This was different.

"Loki?" Your voice cracked as you called his name and fought to peer into the murky water around you. No response, of course. Something brushed against your ankle and you fought the scream that rose in your throat, telling yourself that it was just one of the fish you'd seen in the water before. Did they only light up at night? If only they would do it now, so you could see deeper into the water, see whether the prince was in distress nearby. It didn't matter much that he had spent so much time in the water if his foot had suddenly gotten wedged under a rock or something, did it? You kicked your feet, kicking to keep your head above the water as you groped blindly through the depths. "Loki!"

The panic was choking you now, and you yelped when that fish brushed against your foot again. A part of you felt terrible for undoubtedly kicking the poor thing away, but you had bigger things to worry about. Like the prince drowning. Like being blamed for the prince's death. You stopped kicking and let yourself sink into the water, but it was too dark to see anything, and it stung your eyes. Still, you tried again and again, circling the place where you thought he had gone under and trying not to think about how you would get him to the surface if you found him. You could barely keep yourself afloat—how would you be able to rescue him? And forget about trying to pull him to shore: you were, in fact, incredibly far from dry land, let alone from the palace or anyone who could help you.

Finally, you had to give up searching for him, and fought your way back to the surface. After you had sucked in enough air to stop your lungs from burning, you started to make your way to dry land. Maybe if you shouted loud enough, ran fast enough, you could find someone who was better at swimming than you and who could possible rescue him before he succumbed to the water. It took a few moments, but soon you realized that you were not actually going anywhere. Something was wrapped around your ankle and was actually pulling you away from the shore. You choked back a scream and reached under the water to claw at whatever was holding you. It was cold and...fleshy? Definitely not plant material. Were there other creatures hiding in the depths? There was no way it was one of those light-fish things: they were too small, and this too large. Still, you dug your nails into whatever it was, but it held tight. You kicked with your free leg, and connected firmly with something large and solid, and finally felt its grasp loosen.

Before you could head back towards land, however, it burst up through the water and wrapped itself around you, pulling you down under with it You gasped in surprise before you could stop yourself, and just enough water filled your lungs to make you choke. It felt like it held you under for ages, though if your mind had been working rationally, and not racing with adrenaline, you probably would have realized it was only a second or two. Finally, it dragged you back into the sweet, fresh air of the garden, and though your heart was racing and your head was spinning, you finally realized what had been terrorizing you.

"Loki," you sputtered, and pummeled his chest with your shaking fists until he released you and backed away from you in the water. "What were you doing?" You were practically screaming, and the fact that you had just hit the royal prince—repeatedly—did not even faze you. He held up his arms as though in surrender.

"It's alright, darling. It was a joke."

"Some joke!" You made several pathetic attempts at splashing him before you started to sink under the water and had to start treading water again. "I thought you were drowning."

He laughed and reached for you, but you did your best to swim out of reach. Finally, he seemed to realize that you were not joining him in his laughter. "Were you really that frightened?" He swam closer, but, to his credit, did not reach out to you again.

There was really no point in lying, as the question was largely rhetorical anyway. You sighed as your heart rate slowly returned to normal. "Yes."

Now he would unquestionably smirk at you, maybe say something like "So it turns out you do like me a little bit after all" or "But if I died, you would be free to go back home," and you would either have to avoid looking at his face or reveal that you were actually beginning to enjoy living with him at the palace. It was a stroke of luck that you were getting tired already, drained from your desperate flailing through the water—it would make it easier to merely duck your head and take whatever gloating he decided to do.

But he remained silent for a long time, allowing the sounds of the water and the various creatures around you to fill in for him. Tired of treading water, you drew in another deep breath and floated on your back. That was better. The water filled your ears, but it wasn't as though there was really all that much to listen to, and now that you didn't have to fight to stay above the water, you were actually able to relax again.

After you had been floating there for a while with your eyes closed, focusing on nothing but the sound of your breathing and the water around you, you felt something touch you, so feather-light that you couldn't be positive that it was not just a tickle against your skin. You opened one eye and saw that it was Loki, trailing his fingertips from your navel and up between your breasts, and then back down again. When he met your eyes, he dropped his hand back into the water and said something, but you couldn't make it out over the water in your ears.

"My prince?" You sat up again and shook your head. "I did not hear you."

Did he look...uncomfortable? Surely that was just a trick of the light reflecting off of the water. "I said, I am sorry. My intentions were not to frighten you."

"Well...you did." Your voice fell flat as you responded, but he accepted the answer with the slightest incline of his head.

"Apologies. Would you like to go back now? You seem exhausted."

Some small and defiant part of you wanted to tell him that you were perfectly fine, that you felt you could keep swimming for hours and hours. But the truth was that you were, in fact, exhausted. That had been more than enough water for one day. So you just bit your lip and nodded, and he turned to swim towards shore. You lagged behind somewhat, but kept up for the most part, despite the heaviness that was settling into your body.

It wasn't until you were standing up out of the water that you realized you had no way to dry off. You crossed your arms in front of yourself to hide your breasts as you looked around uncomfortably. It would probably be easy for Loki to squirm back into dry clothes while still dripping wet, but with your ridiculous dress, it would be practically impossible.

You continued to hold one arm across your chest, but used your other hand to try to wipe some of the water off of your skin. It worked, but only just, and soon Loki noticed. You knew because you could hear him chuckle, and then he handed you his tunic. "Here, use this. I did not think to bring anything to dry with. My brother and I do not share your fear of being seen. We usually let the sun dry us."

You looked up to make sure he was serious before you accepted the piece of clothing. It worked a little better than your hand did, at least. You gave it back with a shy smile and stooped to pick up your dress, maintaining eye contact all the while. "Thank you, my lord."

It was hard to look away. He was as pale as ever, but the water coating his skin caught the light of the sun and glistened in a way that caught you off guard. He did not look sick, like the one frail boy you had known in the village who spent most of his time confined to his bed. There was a healthy glow to him, and you were struck by the rather embarrassing desire to taste it, to run your tongue along his bicep or up his chest. You turned away hastily to hide your blush.

Soon enough, you felt your prince's fingers pulling at the ties on your dress once again. When he was finished, he wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his chin on your shoulder. "How can I earn my lady's forgiveness?"

His voice sounded so sincere, so contrite, that even though you reminded yourself that he was renowned for his pranks and lies—not to mention his silver tongue—you allowed yourself to believe that he was being truthful. So you closed your hands around his and let your eyes slip closed as you leaned into him. "You _are_ forgiven, my lord. I know...it was not intentional."

Upon hearing your words, Loki spun you around to face him and cupped your face in his palms as he kissed you with more sweetness than you would have expected. One arm moved down around your waist, to pull you closer against his body, and you slid your arms up around his neck. He nipped at your lower lip until you granted him access to your mouth, and then he growled softly against you. It was dizzying to be so close even after what had transpired in his quarters, and you could not even bring yourself to care who might have been watching.

Suddenly, it hit you—a realization so sudden that you had to pull away from the kiss. You hid your face in the prince's shoulder and hugged him tightly. You had hit him. You had assaulted the prince. For anyone else, that would certainly be a death sentence. Even the knowledge of your position above certain rules did not stop the blood from rushing through your ears.

"What has happened now?" His arms tightened around you though, opting to offer comfort rather than try to study your face.

"I am sorry for attacking you in the water," you mumbled against his skin. He smelled wonderful as always, the damp fabric of his tunic sun-warmed and earthy, mingling with the exotic and intoxicating smell of his skin. His laughter vibrated through his chest against your ear and he pressed his lips against your temple.

"You are forgiven," he laughed, smoothing his fingers through your wet hair. "I think some would say I deserved it."

You smiled to yourself: you could not entirely disagree.

"Now that we've both been forgiven, perhaps we should make our way back into the palace to get ready for dinner. Mother has asked that you join us again tonight, of course."

You nodded quietly, though the thought of facing that woman again knowing her intentions—and the knowledge that she knew you knew of her intentions—made your stomach twist. Nothing had changed, not really. It was just...so nervewracking. She could change her mind at any moment, after all, or Loki could change his, or some noblewoman from another land could come to take your place, or... You looked up. Loki was looking at you with amusement. Right. You ventured a smile and nodded, placing your hand in his and allowing him to lead you back into the palace.


	11. Chapter 11

Yikes! So many apologies for taking so long to update this story! If you're still reading, I thank you for your patience. "Real life" and all its worries has a way of bottling up my creative inspiration and tossing it abandoned into some dusty corner. All too often I have to try to go after it again while fighting off anxieties about silly things like money and jobs. How inconsiderate. Doesn't Real Life know I have a story to finish?!

* * *

When you returned, there was a fresh dress waiting for you. This one was silvery like the one the day before, but with rich green embroidery along the bodice and sleeves. Even now, you had yet to really get used to the beautiful things provided to you here at the castle, and a part of you was just waiting for the day when you would receive a simple shift of rough cotton instead of the fine silks. Loki must have caught you staring reverently at the dress as it laid across his bed, must have seen how you held one sleeve carefully in your hand and touched the tiny stitches of emerald thread as though they were something precious, because he came to you. His hands found your hips and pulled you backwards, against his body even as he rested his chin on your shoulder.

"Tell me what you are thinking," he said. It was an order, of course, but delivered in a tone of voice which softened it almost into a request. That was simply how Loki asked for things. You felt a faint smile turn up the corners of your mouth. Of course the man would not be used to asking for things nicely, with _pleases _and_ thank you_s. Somewhat emboldened by the fact that he could not quite see you, you turned your face just slightly to press your cheek against his.

"I am just remembering the clothes I had in the village, and how I never in a a hundred lifetimes would have thought I'd end up here, wearing such beautiful things."

You heard him laugh, a short puff of air through his nose, and his arms tightened around you. "My lady, you would make a rough-hewn sack look beautiful. Would you like help dressing?"

"Only if you can keep from ravishing me, my lord." Your tone was light, and you closed your hands around the prince's wrists as they lay at your waist, just in case he needed assurance that you were joking. But of course he did not.

"I make no promises." You could not be certain, but he seemed to smile as he spoke. He extracted his hands from yours, and soon you felt his lips like feathers against your shoulders. He worked the buttons that ran along your back, and slipped the dress down your shoulders, then past your hips, and allowed it to pool on the floor. But he did not step away to allow you to pull the new one on. Instead, his cool hands ghosted down your arms and then up your belly to cup your breasts as he pressed his face against the nape of your neck. "You smell wonderful," he all but rasped against your skin.

"My lord, I smell of pond water, and probably dirt and sweat besides," you protested. You would have liked to bathe once more, but that would be a waste—of both time and water. In response, the prince closed his hands around your hips again and pulled you up flush against his body. He was aroused. It pressed against you through his trousers, and the realization that it was because of you was dizzying.

"Does my lady believe me now?" His breath was hot against your ear. Your eyes slipped closed and, despite yourself, a quiet moan escaped your lips. He held you for just a little bit longer, his fingers spread wide as though to touch as much of your skin as he could, but then he released you.

Right. Clothing. Because you were going to dinner. A bit flustered, you picked up the lovely dress and pulled it on. It fit perfectly, as they all did, and you entertained the notion that there might be a room somewhere in the palace full of seamstresses or possibly magicians whose sole purpose was to create these works of beauty on a daily basis. But of course that was ridiculous, and you laughed to yourself as the prince pulled at the strings that would hold the dress together.

"One day I will know the insides of your mind," he murmured as he closed his hands around your shoulders. "Sometimes you are truly unfathomable to me."

But he needed no response from you—his touch slipped away and, when you turned to look at him, he was shucking his clothes in favor of cleaner ones as well. You should have looked away, turned to work your hair into a braid or something so it would not look so wild in front of the King and Queen, but his skin caught the flickering lights in the room, which in turn caught your attention. You watched, captivated, as his lean musclesstretched and flexed with his every movement. When he pulled a clean shirt on over the smooth expanse of his back, it left you feeling almost...bereft.

He turned, and something must have been showing in your face, because a smug smile crept across his as he stalked back toward you. "Do you see something you like?" His fingers hooked in the waist of his trousers as he moved, and he worked them down his hips. By the time he was standing in front of you, he had already stepped out of them. He was still erect. You felt your cheeks burning as you tried to find a safe place for your eyes, but between the smug look on his face, and...his arousal, there wasn't much else to look at.

You took a step backwards, and lost your balance as your legs hit the bed. Well. This was familiar. You sank down among the furs and blankets, and the prince followed you. One hand crept beneath your skirts again, and you squirmed beneath him. "Loki—" You pushed against his chest, but there was no panic or fear coursing through you, only laughter. "Your family is expecting us."

"I am a prince. They can wait for me." He sucked greedily at your skin, teeth nipping your collarbone and sending goosebumps out like ripples in the pond. "Besides, they have my brother. What use have they for me?" His fingers climbed higher, but you pushed harder against him.

"Loki." Feeling bold, you cupped his face in both of your hands. "My lord. You will be missed." You sat up a bit to kiss him—lightly, so as to keep from inciting anything else. "Now will my dear prince please put his trousers on so that we might go to your family?"

"If you insist," he sighed, and slid off of the bed. You managed to keep yourself from watching as he moved catlike across the room, and to keep your eyes averted. He fastened his trousers and extended one long, pale hand towards you. "My lady."

Loki's family, it seemed, was used to his lateness. His mother smiled tolerantly at you as the prince pulled out your chair, and the king? Well, he was unruffled. As before, you immediately found yourself swept away into the conversation of the ladies around you. They were kind, but just shallow enough to keep from turning the conversation towards you. By the time the second course was brought out, you had turned it into an amusing game: watching as each woman took her turn to bask in the attention of the others sitting at the table with you and waiting to see how long she would hold it before another swooped it up. In any case, it was not particularly different from the bits of Loki's conversation with his brother and the soldiers at the end of the table. Honestly, you were not sure how anything even got done, with the lot of them squabbling and interrupting each other. At least the ladies felt no need to shout.

Something in Loki's voice pulled your attention away from the ladies. He sounded distressed, almost—frustrated. You had missed whatever had put him into such a state, but reached over beneath the table and rested your hand on his knee. He did not move for a few moments, and you could only assume that he was so wrapped up in his argument that he had not noticed, but then his long fingers were covering yours. His thumb brushed soft circles against the back of your hand and sent strange but lovely chills up the length of your arm.

"Perhaps the lady will know!" Thor's voice boomed across the table, as though perhaps he thought you were in another room instead of just a few seats away. You looked up at him, more than a little surprised and uncomfortable at having been pulled into their conversation. "My brother is of the opinion that an army of men can turn a week's journey into one only three nights long. Have you ever heard of something so ridiculous?"

The prince's eyes were warm, but there was something in his voice that you did not like. You struggled to form an answer, while Loki squeezed your hand.

"Brother, do not bring her into this. Unlike me, she has not yet grown accustomed to your ways. I assure you—"

"It has been done," you finally managed. Several pairs of eyes turned to stare at you. "In my village, one of the elders was very ill, and so a team of riders were sent to fetch a healer. Forgive me, I cannot remember if the journey was meant to take six days or seven, but they returned on the afternoon of the third day, and the woman was cured." You looked around. If you had not been so confident in your story, you might have been unnerved by the looks you were receiving, but you had been old enough to understand the panic that coursed through the town, and to have loved the kind old lady dearly. "If a person is riding for something they feel is truly important I think there is very little that cannot be done."

Silence descended upon the table. Of course, you were still surrounded by the noises of the rest of the guests carousing at their respective tables, but even the ladies beside you had stopped talking and looked over. Your cheeks burned. It was not as though you had been telling a great and epic story, or even any story of much importance whatsoever. But everyone seemed...rattled, somehow. Should you have held your tongue, instead of contradicting the prince? But there was no danger in the air, and you did not feel afraid. He had asked you a question, after all, and you had merely answered. It was the truth: you had not made up some fantasy. Thor studied you for many long moments, his expression wholly unreadable. Just as you were about to stammer out some disqualification about how one of the horses had been nearly lame by the time the men returned, and how all of the riders had needed the next three days to recover from the grueling journey, a smile broke like the dawn across his face and he raised his goblet to you.

"Brother, if the lady says she has seen it done, then I shall believe her. I was mistaken!"

Everyone was still looking at you, and all you really wanted to do was hide your face and perhaps crawl under the table to hide, but of course that was ridiculous. The most you could do was duck your head and study the goblet set before you. It held a deep red liquid, almost black. Vaguely, you remembered seeing a similar goblet the last time you ate at the table, but you had been so nervous that you'd barely touched your food, let alone any drinks.

Cautiously, you took a sip. It was cool and sweet, with a curious biting heat somewhere in the back of your throat, or your nose. Still, it was lovely. You took another drink and allowed your eyes to slide closed as you savored the taste and the way it filled your senses. It would be wine, you knew, or else some other kind of alcohol: the smell reminded you vaguely of your father, though of course without the stench of his body mixed in.

A bracing warmth spread through you with only a few sips, and somehow it seemed to matter less that all eyes had been on you. Gradually, the conversations at the table went back to normal, and as they did, you felt Loki's fingers tighten around yours once again. He leaned in close.

"Was my lady defending my honor?" He whispered. His breath tickled your ear, and you could hear the faintest trace of a smile in his voice.

"Your brother asked me a question, my lord, and I answered honestly," you replied. "I hardly think one such as yourself truly needs defending." You smiled at him for a moment before allowing yourself to be drawn back into the ladies' conversation. They looked at you differently now, though, and a few of them were actually asking you questions—where had you come from, what was it like there, things like that. You took another long drink from the goblet, hoping to steel yourself against their fleeting curiosity until it finally gave out, and smiled with gratitude at the girl who came up behind you, seemingly from nowhere, in order to refill it.

It was not that you were ashamed of your home, of course—at least, not _just_ that you were ashamed. If the blonde servant from the other night knew about your humble origins, then surely everyone else did too, and you had to expect that at least a few other people shared her feelings towards you. But you found yourself relaxing as you spoke, at least partly thanks to the wine but also because no one was sneering at you. The ladies wore expressions of open interest and fascination, and encouraged you to speak long past the point when ordinarily another would have interrupted. You couldn't help but feel a growing sense of...strangely enough, of belonging, even as they made little exclamations amongst themselves about how hard it must have been to live in a tiny cottage, or to have been without a mother. The differences should have served only to increase the divide between you, but they...didn't. A smile crept across your face as finally the conversation began to turn to other things.

Someone came up behind you once again and, thinking it was another servant, you moved aside and turned your head to thank them, but it was the prince—Thor—and his face was very close to yours. "May I have this dance, my lady?" he asked. It was only then that you noticed that many of the other guests had cleared a dance floor in the middle of the room, perhaps too taken with the band's lively music to think about propriety. Or perhaps, you realized as you saw that the King himself was twirling the Queen into the middle of everything, with her head thrown back in laughter, this was proper. You looked past Thor's expectant face to Loki, but he was apparently still deep in conversation with the man sitting across from him. Very well. You drew in a deep breath, ignoring the way your head and limbs seemed to be buzzing with the alcohol, and offered him your hand.

"Of course I cannot say no to you, Sire," you said with a smile. He grinned and whisked you away from the table, into the throng of people moving together to the music.

He was so different from your prince, large and warm as he held you to him on the floor. In fact, the only thing that gave him away as the brother of Loki was his skill at dancing. He moved with a grace that belied his size, just as Loki had seemed enchanted at the ball. The ball. It felt as though that had been years and years ago. But just as you had felt like a graceless animal dancing with your prince in the ballroom, you felt clumsy and foolish dancing with Thor here among everyone else. You had not even had that much wine, or so you'd thought: plenty of others around you had had their goblets refilled many more times than you, but here you were, uncoordinated and dizzy in a way that had nothing to do with the royal prince before you.

"I must apologize for my behavior," Thor whispered conspiratorially against your ear. His breath was thick and sweet. "I think I have had a bit too much to drink." He spun you then, out and away from him for just a moment, and then swallowed you back up into his arms. One hand covered yours easily, and the other gripped your waist. You fought back the feeling of being trapped, held captive, because that was silly.

"I may have overdone it a bit myself," you confessed. That would be that, then: in the future you would have no more than one serving of wine at a time. A little bit of it seemed to calm you, but too much of it set your heart and mind to racing. If you were in full control of your faculties, surely you would not be so uncomfortable dancing with the prince like this. He was being perfectly respectable, and it was only polite to get along with Loki's family, was it not?

"It becomes you, my lady. Your cheeks are flushed a most wonderful shade of pink." He pulled you closer still, and you couldn't be certain, but it felt like his lips had just grazed the outer shell of your ear. You straightened your shoulders and did your best to focus on your feet and the music. The song should end soon enough, and then you could retreat back to the safety of the table. When you realized that you were somehow associating being at Loki's side with being safe, you found yourself giggling aloud. How absurd a thought—and how mortifying your laughter. It soon dried in your throat, however, because yes, that time you had certainly felt Thor's lips press against your temple.

"It is not often that I envy my brother of something." Thor's voice came low, rumbling somewhere between his chest and his throat. "There is very little, after all that, he has that I do not already have. But you belong in the sunlight, don't you? Not locked away in a stone cell here in the castle." His hand was creeping lower along your back, still far from impropriety, but too close for your own comfort. What were you to do? You did not want to be here, like this, with him, but you also did not want to make a scene by pushing him away. Was this simply the way he was with people? Thor had always seemed friendly enough, and about as nonthreatening as a royal prince could seem, but the last time you had rejected a prince, you'd been locked into a bedroom by yourself for days on end.

So you did the only thing you could—you held your back ramrod straight and put as much distance between the two of you as you could without risking the anger of the man before you. "I—I am not..." You were not locked anywhere at this point, were you? The only thing truly stopping you from roaming the castle freely was the fact that you were unfamiliar with the twists and turns of the corridors, but that would come with time.

"May I cut in?" Loki's voice was tight, and you could hear the barely-restrained anger simmering beneath frail civility. Thor seemed unaffected: he looked at the other man and grinned as widely as ever, releasing you and stepping away.

"But of course, brother! I would never stand between you and your lady!" He winked at you and latched on to a passing lady, spinning her effortlessly through the crowd and away from the two of you.

Something was wrong. Loki was holding you too close. His grip on your wrist and around your waist was less about the expected form for this sort of dance and more...possessive. On the one hand, you were grateful for the support, because you were still feeling unsteady, and uncertain on your feet. But on the other hand, he was moving too fast, and his nails were cutting into your skin. You closed your eyes for a moment, which proved to be a mistake as you stumbled against him. Was there something you could say? This silence was oppressive, but something was preventing you from speaking. So you did the only thing you could do: you held tightly to your prince and tucked your head under his chin.

Not long after that, you felt him pull away from you. He did not release his hold on your wrist, even as he stalked away from the dancers and toward the door. You tried to keep up as he dragged you down the hall, worrying all the while that he would not stop even if you tripped and fell. The thought of him yanking you along the floor by your arm was simultaneously comical and frightening, but you made it to his quarters, where he finally let you go. He was pacing the room as he had the last time he'd stormed off down the corridors and away from dinner, muttering once again as you stood unsteadily in the middle of the room. After several long minutes, he turned to you, cool deadly rage seething on his face.

"Were you having fun, my lady?" His voice was deceptively calm. You took a step away from him, but he followed quickly and pressed deeper and deeper into your personal space. "Is my brother a good dancer? Are his arms strong and comforting?"

"What?" Your head was spinning now, and you were positive that it was not merely the alcohol. "Loki, what are you—"

"This is what he does," he hissed. He spun and strode away from you, but then seemed to think better of it and returned, once again standing too close. "Has he promised you the kingdom? Will he make you his Queen one day? Or is he more interested in a quick tumble in some sunlit corner of the palace while you still sleep in my bed so that you can laugh together about making me the fool?"

"What?" Your voice trembled as you fought to find more words. Where were such accusations coming from? It was hard to put together any coherent thought whatsoever, let alone something that might convince the prince in front of you of what he should already have known to be truth. "My lord, please..."

"Thor, the grand golden son who cannot stand to see me with anything he likes. It is not enough that he will be King, or that our father favors him." His voice was dripping with venom, his face a mask of hatred. But instead of setting your body to trembling, the sight somehow steeled your nerves.

"Loki, stop. I am no plaything or belonging. I am a person. And I am here with you." But you spoke softly, cautiously. He seemed more caged animal than prince, and such creatures could turn so easily.

"But you were not telling him no, were you? How am I to know you are not simply biding your time, waiting to move up the ranks as soon as you are able? All your protestations that you were no whore, your stubbornness and your reluctance to touch me, were they an act? The poor sweet virginal slut from the village here to sleep her way into power."

That was enough. Caged animal or not, you could not just stand here and allow him to shout such things at you. You planted your hands on your hips, hoping that the stance would give you at least the illusion of solidity. "I was raised never to tell a man no, Loki, let alone a bloody royal prince!" Your voice was shrill and wobbly, but it somehow satisfied you as the words ripped from your throat. You allowed all of the fear, all of the anxiety that you had felt these past few months to come out in your voice. "And might I remind you what happened the last time I refused to let a royal prince manhandle me on a dance floor?" Your heart was thudding in your ears, but for once you did not think about what the consequences for yelling at a prince might be. He clearly had no regard for consequences, so why should you?

"Yes, my lady, you wound up here with the prince of nothing." His level tone shamed you for your outburst, and his eyes burned like embers in his skull. "I am truly sorry, my lady. What torture. Believe me, I would send you away if I could."

It was too much. Your stomach was churning now, threatening to rebel against you entirely. You crossed your arms protectively in front of yourself and made your way to the edge of the bed. Maybe he would throw you to the floor, or ridicule your presumptuousness, but if you did not sit now, the dizziness would almost certainly send you to your knees anyway. What was going on? Why in the world would anyone like feeling like this, seek it out night after night? Perhaps this feeling was why your father was always so terrible. It was all you could do to remain sitting upright and maintain control over your stomach, and so you had no choice but to allow the tears to fall. You could only keep your head low and hope that the tears would disgust him, that he would turn around and leave you alone.

"Do not think for a second that childish tears will win you this argument," he finally said, but the anger in his voice was giving way to discomfort. When you did not answer him (because what could you even say at this point to change his mind?), you heard him sigh. You got the sense that he was standing at some safe distance with his arms crossed, trying to determine whether you were only pretending. Hah. "Are you ill?"

You shook your head. Would he acquiesce if you asked him to take you to your room, or call for a servant to do the same? Or would it be better if you told him he was right? Of course you were a cheap lying whore whose sole desire to someday be queen of the land. Your pride would not allow that. So all you could do was hold your tongue and do your best to pull yourself together for another bout with the prince once he became frustrated at your silence. You heard water being poured somewhere in the room, and then felt the prince return to stand in front of you, but instead of demanding that you rise and look upon your prince, he dropped to his knees before you, peering up into your face.

"Loki—" Your voice was as pathetic as it had ever been, broken and pleading. You just wanted to go to sleep: here or in your own room or in the stables, if you had to. You couldn't fight any more, not tonight. You tried to cover your face, make him go away, but he pulled your wrists down into your lap and held them there, so you closed your eyes instead."I drank too much. I swear I did not mean to, but then when your brother asked me to dance, I couldn't say no, then then his hands were on me, and his mouth, and he is a prince, Loki, I did not know how to stop him."

"Okay," he said, and his voice was low. "It's alright, pet. I know." You drew in a shaky breath, and something cool and damp was pressed against your face. Your eyes shot open and met his as he drew the cloth along your heated skin. "Father does like his wine exceptionally strong. I'm afraid you're going to feel even worse in the morning."

"I'm not sure that's possible," you groaned, and stopped fighting to keep your eyes open. The prince laughed and kissed the back of one of your hands before pressing the cloth into it.

"Do this yourself, and I'll undress you." He climbed onto the bed behind you and made quick work of the ties on your dress even as you hid your face in the blessedly cool rag. Thankfully, you remained steady on your feet when you stood to take the dress off, and Loki sat on the bed, watching as you slid between the blankets. When you were finally settled, he took the cloth back from you and held it to the side of your neck.

"Loki, that feels wonderful," you sighed, and lifted one hand to close your fingers gratefully around his elegant wrist. He brushed the thumb of his free hand across your cheek and you turned to press your face closer to his touch.

"Go to sleep, pet. With any luck, you'll sleep through your illness in the morning." With that, he moved the rag to rest upon your brow and slid off of the bed. You pried your eyes open just in time to see him pause in the doorway to look back at you.

"What about you? Where are you going?" You sat up, but he raised his hands as though to stop you. Even from across the room, it felt as though he had placed a heavy weight upon your shoulders, and so you allowed it to press you back into the mattress.

"I wish to be alone for a while, to think. I'll just be walking through the garden. No need to worry yourself. Just go to sleep."

You nodded quietly and settled back amongst the pillows as the doors clicked shut behind him. You were asleep even before your body's heat had time to turn the rag warm again.

It was late when Loki returned, and there was a headache threatening just behind your eyes but the cool darkness of the room offered some comfort. He must have woken you as he was removing his clothes, because you heard him go around to the side of the bed and slide in behind you. You cringed from him at first, as his skin was frigid from time outdoors, but then allowed yourself to melt against him, trading the heat of your feverish body for the comforting chill of his. He seemed surprised, but not particularly uncomfortable, when you turned to press your face into his chest, and snaked his arm around your back to hold you close.

Your lips shaped his name against his skin like a whispered prayer, and maybe he pressed his lips to the top of your head, but between the alcohol and your drowsiness, everything was still fuzzy around the edges, so you couldn't be sure.

"It's late," he rumbled. "Go back to sleep. The monster will protect you."

"My prince," you answered—maybe a correction, maybe an assurance—and if you added 'I love you', murmured half-asleep into the stillness of his chest, you could not be sure you had actually spoken it aloud, or merely called the thought to mind while you drifted into sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

You were dying.

Or, if you weren't, you found yourself wishing that you were.

You had not even opened your eyes yet, and still the light that came streaming in through the windows was searing through your eyelids and making the pounding in your head even worse. You groaned, and rolled over in order to seek refuge in the cool darkness of your pillow, but the movement made you suddenly and painfully aware of your churning stomach. And your whole body ached, particularly your legs and between them, and you would have moaned if you were not afraid that doing so would alert you to a sore throat, or perhaps a swollen tongue. If this was what your father awoke to every morning, then you could almost forgive him for his foul moods.

Your mouth was very dry, but getting up for water was out of the question. So you stayed there in bed, trying not to move or breathe or even think very much. With any luck, you could fall asleep again and sleep through this sickness. And then never, ever drink again.

But it was not to be. The door creaked open, echoing like a scream in your ears. You whimpered before you could stop yourself, but at least that showed you that your throat was intact.

"My lady?" It was a cautious whisper—Sindri, of course. Had Loki put out word that you would be unwell this morning, or had the story of your inebriation simply spread on its own? The smell of the food on the tray she carried reached your nose and made your stomach clench miserably. You were hungry, but could you trust your body to keep from rejecting whatever you tried to eat?

The girl crept closer, the thin soles of her sandals not quite noiseless on the thick carpet, and placed the tray on the small stand beside the bed so that she could touch your forehead. Her touch was light, hesitant, but you could feel the roughness of her skin. She was so young to have such calloused hands. You opened your eyes partway, trying not to groan at the brightness of the room as you peered up at her. Before she met your eyes, her features were creased with concern, but when she saw that you were awake, her face melted into a shy smile.

"My lady, it is best to eat something. You'll find it'll make you feel better. Do you need help sitting up?"

"No." Your voice sounded about as terrible as you felt, and you cleared your throat to try to rid yourself of the hoarseness. "Thank you. You are sweet to be concerned, but I am not sure I can eat anything."

"You must!" She was insistent, and picked up the mug of tea to press it into your hands. "Please, my lady. I know it sounds crazy, but you will feel better, I promise." She looked around the room and lowered her voice. "You should see how much food Prince Thor eats for breakfast when he's had too much to drink the night before." She grinned, and for a moment she looked like a girl—a girl like Sigg, or the sister you had never known—but that passed an instant later, and she looked like the guarded, cautious servant again.

You weren't sure what to say to her—whether you should apologize or thank her again—so you took a bit of fried meat. It was greasy, but delicious, and (best of all) your stomach seemed to accept it without threatening to rebel, and so you ate with growing gusto. You stopped only to urge Sindri to take what she wanted. There was far more food on the tray than you could eat even with this renewed appetite, and you could not help but wonder if someone was sending this much food on purpose. Maybe other people were looking out for the girl as well?

You were feeling marginally better already, you decided once most of the food had disappeared from the tray. Your head was still throbbing and your limbs still ached, but you did not feel quite as ill. Sindri was fidgeting hesitantly, and you could tell that she had a question that she did not want to ask. Bracing yourself, you offered her a warm smile.

"What is it?"

She remained silent for a long time. When she finally spoke, her voice was guarded.

"My lady...are you going to marry Thor?"

"What?" Your voice was too loud, and you winced as soon as you had finished speaking. Once the renewed aching in your head had passed, you laughed weakly and looked over at the girl. "What in the world are you talking about?"

She shrugged and pulled off a piece of the roll in her hands. When she spoke, she did so quietly. "Some of the other servants are saying that you danced with him last night at dinner. He will be king someday, so...some are saying that you will go to him instead of Loki. Will you?"

"No." Your voice, thankfully, sounded stronger than you felt. There was so much you wanted to ask this girl, but already she looked as though she wished she could fly from the room, and you did not want to frighten her, so you chose your words carefully. "I have no intentions of marrying Prince Thor." That was true enough, anyway. "I have seen nothing to suggest that either of the princes would wish to marry me in the first place. And it is a bad idea to listen to gossip." You offered her another smile, though this one was certainly more wavery than the last.

"Good. Between us, my lady? I do not like him very much." She looked around the room and leaned in closer, as though sharing a secret. "He used to pull my hair when I first arrived."

It was hard to imagine Prince Thor terrorizing a young servant for no reason, but you held your tongue. If she said he pulled her hair, he pulled her hair. You thought about reaching out to take the end of one of her braids between your fingers—not to pull, of course, but just to touch—but refrained. It was a little inappropriate. "How long have you been here, exactly?"

Sindri had to think for a moment. "Four years, I think. No, I'm nearly...thirteen now, so it would be five. Five years working for the Queen and Prince Loki." She smiled proudly, but all that did was make you want to pull her into an embrace. She was still so young, a child, and yet had already spent so much of her time in servitude to the royal family. And to look so proud about it! What was there to say to her?

Either she picked up on your discomfort, or the Fates smiled upon you, because after only a few more moments, she hastily wiped her mouth and, as always, tucked a roll of bread into her apron. "I have to get to work, my lady," she said, though her eyes lingered wistfully on the rest of the food on the tray. "The princes have left, so should I send Rowan to you?"

The thought of nursing your illness in the sanctuary of the library was tempting, but you shook your head. "No, thank you. I think I should take some time to learn the corridors of the palace. I have been here a while now and I am still never completely sure where I am going." Sindri nodded, and you imagined her as a child of eight trying to find her way through the palace. Had the other servants been accommodating?

"That is a good idea," she agreed with another little jerk of her head. "If you find yourself lost anywhere, you can ask any one of us. Helping the royal family is our most important order, so anyone will help you."

And before you could get over your surprise and remind her that you were not actually a member of the royal family, Sindri had slid off of the bed and hurried from the room. You picked at the tray for a little bit longer, but soon stood up to bathe. You stumbled, just once, as your head spun, but you quickly regained your balance. Maybe even drinking one serving of wine would be too much, you decided. Maybe you just did not care for the stuff at all, and you would not be touching it again in the future. Surely that was easier?

When you came out of the washroom, you were relieved to find that a dress had been left for you on Loki's bed. To be honest, you'd been dreading seeing the older servant—she would certainly have something to say: some snide, judgmental remark about overindulging or dancing with Prince Thor or something along those lines. But the room was empty, and the dress was perfect: soft and comfortable against your skin. It wasn't too restrictive, and it wasn't too heavy, but sat against your skin like the dresses you wore when you were a child.

You were tempted—sorely tempted—to crawl back into the bed and sleep the rest of the day away. Who would dare say anything to you? But the fact that you had yet to learn the layout of the palace was really getting to be a problem, so you steeled your resolve and ventured out through the ornate doors of Loki's chambers.

You spent most of the afternoon wandering the palace and committing the labyrinthine corridors to memory. By the time evening fell, you were feeling downright comfortable with the paths you'd taught yourself. It was a huge palace, of course, and it would take you much longer than one day to memorize the entirety of it, but you could find your own way from the prince's quarters to the library, the great hall, the throne room, and the garden and stables. Not too bad for one afternoon's work.

Loki still had not returned by nightfall, but a servant appeared in the doorway to bring you to dinner anyway. Walking into the hall by yourself was a little nervewracking, but once you were in your place at the table, surrounded by the Queen's ladies, you found yourself feeling...well, almost as though you belonged there. Tonight there was a new face sitting amongst the familiar ones: a woman with rich dark skin and fathomless brown eyes. You could not tear your eyes away from her, though she remained practically silent throughout dinner. She caught you staring once and you would have looked away with flaming cheeks, but something in her gaze held yours even as she smiled faintly at you.

Eir, some of the other ladies called her in passing, which told you that she had clearly been to the palace before. There was a stillness about her that went beyond her reticence and put you in mind of some of your village's elders. She seemed very wise. There were things that she knew that you could never hope to understand. Perhaps that was why she kept quiet: she had no one to discuss her thoughts with.

You sat with the ladies until the majority of them had excused themselves, at which point it no longer seemed rude to do the same. When you got back to your quarters, you fell into bed almost immediately, and dreamed of your prince sitting astride his horse with a stony face, riding fiercely despite the biting rain that fell around him.

The next few days were largely the same. Sindri came and shared breakfast with you, and then you wandered around the palace for the rest of the day. By evening on the fourth day, you could take yourself nearly anywhere in the palace you needed to go, and usually without stopping a servant to ask for directions. Attending dinners by yourself was also becoming commonplace, though the empty seat beside you was starting to make you miss Loki. How you would have scoffed at the idea—missing Loki, of all people!—when you had first arrived, and yet here you were.

Most of the dishes had been cleared away on that fourth night when Prince Thor burst into the room, followed by a few of his soldiers. Silence fell as he strode purposefully toward the table and leaned to whisper something in Eir's ear. Her face showed nothing, but she stood to follow him out.

"Thor, what is it?" Even the Queen could tell that something was wrong. "Where is your brother?"

But the prince did not stop to answer her, and in fact gave barely any indication that he had even heard her in the first place. The two of you shared a worried look across the table and, before you realized what you were doing, you had jumped to your feet to follow the others.

Loki was standing there in the hallway, between two unfamiliar soldiers who were each supporting his weight. His clothing was soaked, as was the rest of the party's, and already there was a small puddle at his feet. The difference was that his puddle was tinted red. He was bleeding somewhere, enough that his blood was dripping from his clothing like the rain. He seemed to grow weaker by the second, and you had to tell yourself that he was not growing paler before your very eyes. It was simply not possible. Before you could gather your wits to ask what had happened, Eir was springing into action, barking orders and sending the soldiers scattering throughout the palace. She and Thor hurried Loki towards his chambers, and you did your best to keep up.

They lowered him onto the bed and, in a matter of moments, Eir had stripped him of his clothing. The sight of his body, covered with dirt and blood and bruises, made you gasp, which seemed to finally make them aware of your presence.

"My lady, you do not need to be here," she said, addressing you for the first time since you'd laid eyes on her. She did not stop working as she spoke: a soldier had brought her a pot of water, and she dumped the contents of a small velvet bag into it, then began soaking the clean rags that another had brought. "You should go."

"I can't," you answered, and immediately felt as though you had never spoken a truer sentence in your entire life. "Let me help."

A look passed between Eir and Thor, as though they were communicating telepathically, which of course was not possible, and finally she shrugged. "Fine. Use these cloths to clean the prince's wounds. When one cools, or becomes too dirty, take a new one."

You climbed onto the bed to sit on the other side of Loki, and did as the woman instructed. But each time you slid the cloth over your prince's wounds, it seemed to reopen them, and his blood poured out of every crack in his skin. You were no physician, of course, but even you could tell that he was losing too much blood. But you would not allow the panic to hold you back, and instead forced your mind to shut off as your hands worked seemingly of their own volition. When all of the dirt had been cleaned from Loki's body (and his skin was almost certainly paler now than it had ever been before, there was no doubt), Eir poured a new bag's contents into a fresh pot of water, and soaked some bandages in it.

"Put your hands on either side of these wounds here, princess, and hold them closed. Quickly!"

You did as she ordered without hesitation, though the fear of hurting the prince was ever present in the back of your mind. It was not until the healer had completely wrapped all of your prince's wounds that you even realized what she had said. The urgency had passed—she had fallen silent again in lieu of delivering commands, and most of the soldiers had left the room. Thor was standing near the door, a silent sentry, and Eir ran her filthy fingers through her hair.

"My lady, I..." Was it worth it to correct her? You had made Loki so angry when you had tried correcting him, but that could be blamed on any number of other things. But she was looking at you already, so you could not very well remain silent. "I am not a princess."

She cast a look over her shoulder at Thor, who nodded as though to verify that what you said was true, and then looked back at you. "Apologies, my lady. I spoke without thinking. I meant no insult."

"No, I—I know. I just—I did not wish to mislead you." You dropped your eyes to the prince's face. A deathly pallor had sunken into his skin, and his eyelashes did not so much as flutter against his cheeks. He was more still, more lifeless, than you had ever seen him before. "Will he—?" Will he what? Survive? Awaken? Die? You could not finish your sentence. The possibilities were too frightening, no matter which word you chose.

"Aye, he should be fine. Nothing I haven't seen before. My mixes will have him stitched together by morning, and as long as he wakes up tomorrow, he should be on the mend quickly." She rose to her feet and stooped as though to stretch her back. You did not ask her why he might not wake up tomorrow—because you were not certain that you wanted to hear her answer. "Keep an eye on him tonight, my lady, and find me if his condition should worsen."

With that, she and Thor left the room, leaving you with what could very well have been the corpse of your prince. It was not until the doors had been pulled shut behind them that you realized that you had no idea how to find her. The alternative, you decided, was to keep an incredibly sharp eye on him, because that way surely nothing could go wrong, could it?

The first time he groaned, it made you jump in the stillness of the room. You sat frozen for a moment, your eyes fixed to the prince's face as you waited for something else—anything else—to happen, but he did not move, or awaken, or even moan again. Your hands were growing stiff with whatever concoction Eir had mixed into the water, and your dress was stained and filthy, so you stripped it off and went to wash your hands in the washroom. The whole time, you strained to listen for any noise from the prince, but it was as though the spectre of death had fallen upon him again. So made your way back to the bed in nothing but your shift, a thin white length of fabric that pooled around you as you knelt beside Loki on the bed.

The longer you sat there staring, the deeper the weight settled in your stomach. Death was not just upon your prince: it filled the room. Your skin grew cold in the flickering torchlight, and so you drew the blankets around the both of you. Even if he was asleep, surely the prince could still feel the cold, and it would not do for him to catch a chill, not while he was already facing so much danger. You alternated between willing Loki to make some kind of noise, to show you that he was still alive, and willing him to remain quiet, to show that his condition had not worsened.

At some point during the night, you must have fallen asleep, because the next thing you knew, you were being ripped back into wakefulness by your prince as he groaned and twisted in his sleep. Fearful that he would rip through the bandages and reopen his wounds, you pressed against his shoulders in hopes of holding him to the mattress, but that seemed only to make things worse. He fought against your restraints and began to tear at the bandages holding him together.

"Loki, stop!" You cried. Had you ever felt this useless before? You clutched at his wrists, but managed to hold him for only a few moments at a time before he yanked his hands away and resumed his clawing.

"Fire," he was muttering, eyes clenched shut as he dragged his fingers along his sides. "There's fire. Itching fire. Make it stop." His voice was a rasping whine, which only served to increase your terror. You had never heard him sound like this before. He worked the fingers of one hand under his wrappings and started to pull. He had unraveled a good portion before you managed to stop him, and would not stop mumbling about the fire. Clearly you needed to go find Eir, but how could you leave him alone like this, when he would undoubtedly tear himself open again?

Finally you spied one of your stockings, abandoned on the floor beside the bed. "Forgive me, my lord," you murmured as you retrieved it, and used it to bind the prince's wrists together. You wrapped it tightly around one of the bed posts and took a moment to inspect your work. Although Loki struggled against these restraints as he had struggled against your hands, these held tightly. They would have to do.

So, temporarily satisfied that Loki would not hurt himself in your absence, you slid off the bed and skittered out of the room. If you could not happen upon Eir's room, you might find a servant who would know where to find her. But the corridors were deserted, and soon you found yourself in an unfamiliar wing of the palace altogether. How were there no servants about? How was there *_nobody_* about? In a panic, you threw yourself upon the nearest set of doors and knocked as though to summon the dead. You were prepared to beg forgiveness from the person on the other side—you would even throw yourself at the mercy of the King himself, as long as he might help you find someone who would help the prince.

The doors swung open, and a broad bare expanse of a chest greeted you. If you were feeling less frantic, you might have groaned at your luck, but as it was, you barely even noticed the way Prince Thor's eyes raked along your barely-concealed body. "What is it, my lady?" He asked. "Loki?"

You nodded, struggling to find the words. "I think something is wrong. He says he is on fire."

"It'll be the medicine, then," came another voice—a familiar voice—from inside the prince's chambers. You felt your cheeks burning as Eir came into view. She was fully clothed, which suggested nothing..untoward, but the thought that you might have been interrupting something was still enough to make you blush. "Sometimes people cannot handle the healing."

"My lord can handle a lot," you shot back, and instantly regretted it. This woman clearly knew what she was doing, and you were going to pick a fight with her while Loki waited in his chambers in distress? Idiotic, prideful girl.

But Eir was nonplussed. She gave you a gentle smile and inclined her head. "Of course, my lady. Come, I will check on him."

So the three of you tramped back through the corridors to Loki's chambers, and Eir perched on the edge of the bed. Your stocking had held, though Loki still struggled against it. He was fighting harder now, and the angry words that now fell from his lips nearly set your ears aflame. Again, Eir was not rattled in the slightest. Instead, you heard her laughing and murmuring something as she stroked the prince's face and checked his bandages. Whatever she said, it served only to further incense the prince—he pulled so hard on the stocking that the entire bed began to rattle. Finally Eir drew something from her breast—a small glass bottle, probably, though her back was to you so you could not be certain—and pressed it to the prince's lips.

Soon he began to settle. Eir continued to stroke his forehead, and you did your best to ignore that strange, petulant emotion rising in your throat. Now that the danger (such that it was, in any case) had passed, you began to notice Prince Thor's eyes drifting towards you again, and you remembered that you were still wearing nothing but your shift. Trying (and most likely failing) to look nonchalant, you bent to retrieve Loki's cloak from where it had been dropped onto the floor. The material, though once soaked with rainwater, had dried quickly, and it was hardly even damp when you fastened it around your throat. And just there, beneath the slightly-musty scent of clothing worn for too long in too much weather, was the now-familiar scent of your prince. You held the cloak against your face and breathed deeply before remembering yourself. The other two in the room did not seem to have noticed.

You wanted to join Loki on the bed, but Eir was still whispering to him, and, uncertain whether it was some kind of healing chant or merely words, you held back. Thor stepped closer to you and pulled you into his arms for a rib-crushing hug.

"Eir is a great healer," Thor said against the top of your head. "He will be fine in the morning. You will see." It might have been more reassuring had that night (the one with too much wine) never happened, but as it was, you merely stood there with your back achingly straight and waited for him to be finished.

It seemed like years before Eir stood up and turned to face the two of you, but when she did, Thor finally released you. You gathered the cloak up closer to your neck, holding it closed in the front to cover as much of yourself as possible, and she inclined her head at you once more. It was a kind of bow, you now recognized—nothing like a curtsy for the Queen, but certainly something that wasn't necessary for someone of your position.

"He will sleep through the night, my lady,:" she said. "I have given him something to make sure of that. You should sleep as well. The fire in his skin will trouble neither of you tonight, and by morning it should be more bearable."

And then, for the second time that night, the two of the disappeared together through the chamber doors. You stood there, looking at your prince. It was true, he appeared to be sleeping peacefully now—at the very least, he was no longer thrashing about. Perhaps you should untie him.

With a shyness that made no sense at all given the situation, you approached the prince and struggled with the knots (all of his tugging had made them all the tighter). When they were finally undone, you let the stocking drop to the floor again and held his hands against your chest until they felt warmer. His skin was, of course, still cool to the touch, but they felt more...right, anyway. Emboldened by his lack of response, you pressed a kiss to his knuckles and placed his hands carefully on his chest.

As soon as you did, it was as though all of your remaining energy was completely drained from your body. All of this worrying, all of this exertion, all of your panic and fear, had taken its toll on you, and you just barely managed to climb into the bed. You were asleep even before your head landed on the prince's shoulder.


End file.
